


No Reins

by MonoclePony



Series: Saddles and Stirrups [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jean in jodhpurs what more do you want, M/M, Marco's mum being a badass, Riding accident, horse riding AU, horses with puns for names, lotsa horses, no homo Marco, past abusive relationship, rather homo Jean, riding trauma, socially awkward Marco too c'monn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 204,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt used to be a great rider- until an accident left him with shattered nerves and a wariness of anything to do with the giant black horse he used to love like a brother. He's given up riding for good, though still helps out at his mother's struggling riding stables. But his way of life is in trouble; Bodt's Riding Stables has a challenger in the form of the elite Trost Riding Academy, who prize winning over anything else. As tensions rise between the two stable yards, an unlikely grace appears in the form of one Jean Kirschtein, who spends the summer at the Bodt stables to settle a dispute. Jean is determined to get Marco back in the saddle by the end of the summer, and as the pair get closer it looks like he'll get his wish...</p><p>No Reins is a story about loyalty, horsemanship and the desire for something better- along with a speckling of love along the way, of course! </p><p>I will try to keep the Jean Horse Jokes to a minimum, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I gotta go and find me

**Author's Note:**

> I was brain-storming AUs late at night and came up with this. I've been writing it like mad ever since!  
> All of the riding in No Reins is English style, because I am English and that's the way I know. 
> 
> This chapter not only introduces Marco but his downfall. It gets better from here on out, I promise!
> 
> Per-lease read and review, I'd much appreciate it! :) x

Marco Bodt wasn’t a competitive sort. He hated the conflict, the tension, the glares and upset he could make people feel simply for besting them for something. The last time he’d done anything remotely competitive was in school, and even then he hadn’t been able to stop apologising to the boys he beat. But that didn’t stop him being dragged along to the Jinae Showground every year for the annual show-jumping circuit.

It was a rather big competition for the small rural town they lived in; Jinae had a tiny population and saw little excitement in the year. It rained for half the year and snowed for a quarter. The hills were steep and the crops were always in danger of failing. The food was tough and the people were even tougher. The only form of entertainment they had was a summer parade that rarely went ahead and a pub that was open four days a week.

One thing they did get excited for was horses.

 Jinae was an equine town- it was built on the backs of horses, and it would be trodden into the dust by them, too. It was like going back in time, seeing the pony and traps trundling along the roads and groups of well-to-do men chortling away on their big-boned hunters as they took to the forests. There were tethering posts alongside car parking spaces, and great giants of animals would be put to work alongside the tractors and harvesters without breaking pace.

It was no surprise, then, that the Bodts’ riding school was always teeming with business. Children no taller than Marco’s knee would run into the yard with shining coins and bright smiles, vying for their favourite pony and begging Marco to be the one to take them out on the lead-rope across the gentle moors that always seemed misty. There were the older children, of course, and they would be in the ménage working their mounts around in circuits of trots and canters, listening attentively to the instructor in the centre’s orders. Some of them were good, some not so good, but they all came away from the stables exhilarated and overjoyed- if not a little dirty. The smiles on their faces were enough for Marco. However, his mother had other ideas.

When Marco tried to explain, for the umpteenth time, how he didn’t like going to the showgrounds, his mother gave him an irritated tut. They were sat together in the tack room, all the lessons having been finished for the day, and they had set about cleaning equipment for the big day. “It’ll be good for you to get out,” she said as she polished dozens of boots and adjusted just as many stirrup leathers as she went. For a woman in her prime, Eleanor Bodt was remarkably energetic. She had pulled her dark hair out of her band and it now hung around her cheeks, framing her freckles as she worked tirelessly. Marco had inherited everything but her eyes; the large brown eyes that watched her with admiration came from his father. Eleanor fixed her own leaf-green gaze onto her son. “You barely do anything anymore, and you rarely hang around with people your own age!” she added, tutting again for good measure.

There was a reason for that, Marco wanted to retort- but the defence would fall on deaf ears, as did everything else. He couldn't be too angry with her; she only wanted the best for him, and was doing what any concerned mother would do. He sighed. He socialised just fine; the children who came to the school counted, didn't they? He loved spending time with them, seeing them grow… but talking to anyone his own age? Nu uh. No way. Nope.

“But mum, I’d much rather stay here,” he protested.

She looked up from her work and gave him a sympathetic smile. He recognised it as a smile she reserved for her nervous students. “I know you would, but sometimes you have to get out of your comfort zone. Push yourself. It might surprise you. You _might_ have fun.”

Marco chuckled good-naturedly. He really couldn’t stay annoyed for long. There was no point. They only had each other now, and if they fell out Marco didn’t know what he’d do. It was best to humour her, at least for the moment. “And you want to try to win, don’t you?” he asked, replacing a now shining bridle on its allotted peg and lifting up a saddle in need of TLC. He sat down unevenly and threw it onto his lap with a grunt. He winced as the weight seemed to dislodge something.

Her shock made him laugh. “Marco Bodt, how dare you assume your mother wants to beat the living daylights out of that poncey Trost Riding Academy!” she said.

Marco grinned. “I didn’t even have to name them this time.” His answer was a short but gracious huff. Trost Riding Academy was situated a few miles away from Jinae in the town of its namesake, but its pupils never failed to show up to the competitions run here. The Academy hadn’t been set up long, but it had completely dwarfed the Bodt family business, and had even taken some of their customers. The drive wasn’t far, after all, and some parents prided elitism over enjoyment. Marco’s mother had not, and would never, forgive them for it. Marco didn’t even know who they were, having always been too occupied with sorting out children’s hats and boots and girths to have the chance to watch their rounds. But what he did know about them was that they were always astonishing, and they always won their classes. The Bodt Riding School had never beaten them.

“We’ll show them this year,” he heard Eleanor mutter as she scrubbed at the saddle leather viciously. “We have some very promising students, especially in the over 16s.”

Marco frowned. Ah, the over 16s- the group he avoided like the plague until show day. He was always conveniently working the younger classes when their lessons were scheduled. “Oh? Like who?” he asked, attacking his own saddle with vigour.

“Well, the Jaeger siblings for one!” She grinned. “Eren’s coming on in leaps and bounds, and that Mikasa has flawless form. Trost’ll be hard pushed to find someone to beat them.”

Marco smiled. His mother was always singing the Jaeger sibling’s praises, even though Mikasa was technically an Ackerman. They were naturals, she assured him, and just seemed to know what to do with a horse. It was as though it was in their blood, and it may well have been; Marco had overheard Eren boasting that his great-great-grandfather had been in the King’s grand cavalry. “You better make sure you put them on the best horses, then. The horse makes the rider too, you know,” he said.

“Now you sound like your father.” The silence that filled them after this remark was painful, and their smiles dropped. It was still a sore subject for both of them, and they often forgot how fresh the wound was. They went back to cleaning tack for a minute or so in companionable silence, before the chatter resumed, albeit more nervously than before. “Mikasa wants to take Raven, and I was going to ask you about Eren…” Eleanor began.

“Mmm? Why’s that?” Marco was focused on lifting a particularly stubborn smudge on the leather, and was only half paying attention.

“I wondered… if he could take Titan.”

Marco dropped the saddle polish with a clatter. Ice had hit the pit of his stomach, and with the ice the lingering fear began to return, licking at his insides like some inner demon pawing for a way out. “Honey?” He could barely hear his mother’s voice. He looked up wildly, but all he could see was the sky, hear the screams of a horse that sounded more human than animal, and then the feeling of falling, falling and not being able to do anything about it… “Marco!” He jerked free of his thoughts and saw the ashen face of Eleanor, her eyes wide with panic. “Sweetie, it’s alright,” she said, and he realised that she was gripping him hard. When had he started shaking? Now he realised, he couldn’t stop it. It was like watching a phantom body when you were in no control. That only made him shake worse.

“He c-can’t take him,” Marco said.

“Sweetie, he’s a horse. He needs to have exercise.” She spoke with a waver in her voice, as though she expected him to lash out. He hated that.

“I give him exercise,” he answered weakly. “He goes out in the p-paddock-”

“He needs to earn his keep, love. Otherwise there’s no point in having him here,” she said, soft and gentle.

“He’s _my_ horse!” Marco snapped. He shrank back, appalled. Eleanor looked as though he had slapped her. “I- sorry, mum. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You haven’t ridden him in three years, Marco.” Her voice was tired, aged, and he began to feel the onset of guilt. “Three long years. Haven’t you ever wondered how Titan feels?” Marco bit his lip and looked away. “He’s a good horse, Marco, a very good horse with lots of potential. But you need to give him the chance. If you don’t want to ride him, then we should let someone else give him that chance.”

“It’s not as if I don’t _want_ to ride him,” Marco muttered, casting his eyes anywhere but at his mother’s face. “It’s that I _can’t_.”

She sighed. “Marco…”

“I can’t!” His quakes started up again tenfold, and he was close to losing the saddle on his lap with how much it was juddering. “I… I can’t, mum. I can’t.” He closed his eyes, trying to bring his heart-rate back down to normal. The quakes subsided, slowly but surely, like rain, and when he opened his eyes again he saw his mother’s flooded with tears.

“I hate seeing you like this, sweetie, but I don’t know what to do,” she mumbled, and Marco felt her hand squeeze his own. “I thought after a few months you would be okay, that it would get easier…”

Marco sighed. She had no idea. There was no chance of it ever getting easier, not now, not ever. Even now he would wake up in the night drenched in sweat, gasping and crying with the memories of flailing hooves and terrified whinnies. It was a wonder he could be around horses at all, considering. He wiped a hand over his face in an attempt to stave off the dreams and glanced back at his mother. “Y-you’re right. He should be allowed to be ridden. Eren can… can take him to the showgrounds.”

_He shouldn’t be ridden shouldn’t be ridden at all he’s wild and dangerous and he’s going to kill someone one day I just know it he shouldn’t be given the opportunity Eren’s only young younger than me before the accident-_

“You’re sure?”

_No. No no no no NO._

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

_He’d do a better job than me_ , he thought with a twist of his stomach. He was being cruel to himself but he didn’t care. Jaeger was talented, he was young, he could handle the flighty horses. He could handle Titan. He could succeed where Marco failed.

Eleanor smiled. “Sweetie, you’re with him all the way. Look after him for Eren, make sure his mane’s nice and neat, oil his hooves…”

“I think Eren can do that himself.” His voice sounded hollow. He picked up the saddle polish from the floor and started back on the saddle, his panic gradually subsiding and leaving nothing but a gaping hole punched through his gut.

He helped his mother with the evening feed after that, his thoughts still miles away as he upturned buckets into feeding troughs and fastened hay-nets in each occupant’s stall. The horses loved Marco. He radiated a sort of welcoming, calm presence to them, and they would always nuzzle him for treats or nibble the edges of his waterproof coat for attention. Today, he wasn’t in the mood. “Not today, Champ,” he said to the old chestnut gelding they used for beginners, emptying his special Veterans Feed. It was slightly dampened to make it easier on his teeth, and it stank of molasses. “Nothing for you today, old boy.” Champ gave him a look of immense distaste and sniffed at his feed experimentally, letting out a tired old snort. Marco gave him a pat regardless, his attempt at an apology. The old horse turned back to nuzzle him in the chest, his wither reaching halfway up Marco’s arm, and Marco held the horse’s head in his hands, enjoying the warmth and comfort it gave him. “Hey, bud, what’s happening, eh? Those naughty kids get you tired again, huh?” he cooed, smiling as Champ butted his head into his chest a little more. “Aw, you tell ‘em who’s boss, you hear?” Champ snorted in response, and Marco chuckled as he slipped away and out of the stall.

He made his way around the back of the main stalls, grimacing as he noticed how pronounced his limp was that night, and retrieved the last few buckets from the feed room. His mother had beaten him to it; there was only one left, and he assumed she was long gone, back in the house to whip them up a quick dinner. He smiled. She was an amazing woman. His smile vanished however when he saw the name painted on the blue bucket.

‘ _TITAN.’_

He swallowed painfully. He could do this. It was easy. It was just a horse, like all the others, and all he had to do was go inside, dump the bucket and walk right back out again. He didn’t even need to put up a hay-net. He took the bucket with slightly shaking hands and walked forwards, turning the corner from the main stalls and into the back line.

This was where the bigger horses were kept, the horses for the adults and the over-16s, if they were tall for their age. Raven, the horse his mother had assigned to Mikasa, was already eating, the only thing in sight her broken-coloured rump. Marco passed her without a word, passed the other two stalls with other happily chewing tenants, and then…

Titan was waiting for him. The large head was out of the stall, ears pricked and eyes wide. It was the face of a sport horse, of an animal with thoroughbred blood locked in his veins, and Marco stopped dead at the sight of it. Titan was a big horse, giant even, and was in danger of hitting his head on the top of the stall. He was black as the night save for a very thin stripe that wiggled down his face like a small snake. Marco remembered that there was also a tiny little sock on one of his hind legs, though he never got close enough to see it. The horse’s nostrils were quivering expectantly, his entire body shaking with eagerness and the promise of food, and Marco dared to take a step closer. Titan was different to the other horses. He had a savage sort of beauty to him, a savagery Marco had never noticed when he brought him home as an excited fifteen year old, clutching the lead rope and joking he’d need a ladder to get onto the gelding’s back. He had grown now, and his height evened the odds a little between the pair, but not by much.

He stared at the horse, and the horse stared right back. He took another step closer. He tried to whistle to keep up an air of calm, but his lips were so dry the sound was strangled. Titan arched his neck as he practically reached for the bucket, lips twitching just as much as his nostrils. Marco swallowed painfully. He was just a horse- a horse like any of the others. But then he remembered.

_The thrashing hooves, the squeal of pain, the rolling eyes…_

Marco staggered back too fast, and had to grab for the nearest stable door to stop himself from falling over. He ended up dropping the bucket in his haste and it hit the floor with an echoing bang, its contents spilling out onto the concrete. Titan drew back his head at the noise, startled. His ears flattened back against his neck, and he looked at Marco with a sense of betrayal and alarm. Marco’s breath was coming tight in his chest, and he averted his eyes from the aggravated horse, his eyes shutting as he wheezed.

“Marco?” he heard his mother call out, but only a weak groan came out. He knew it was over-reacting, and he knew he was being pathetic, but it wasn’t as if he could help it. Eleanor was by his side in a heartbeat, rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades and murmuring soothingly. He opened his eyes after a while and dared to look over at Titan. The horse looked mildly curious, as though he were wondering why his old master was behaving in this way. Did horses have good memories, Marco wondered? He always thought they did, but Titan seemed indifferent to his owner’s plight.

“It’s okay sweetie, it’s okay,” Eleanor murmured.

Marco gulped back the tears threatening to spill to the surface. No matter how much his mother said it, he knew that he was in no shape or form _okay_.

He found it harder to walk back to the house simply because he was thinking about it. The more conscious he was, the more difficult it became to walk. He was forced to lean on Eleanor for support, shame colouring his cheeks as they made their meandering way back to the small farmhouse they called home. She kept telling him that it was fine, that it was perfectly natural to feel this way and that they would get through it together, but he was too awkward to respond. He spent the rest of his night tossing and turning in bed, trying to ignore the pain in his leg and the look of despair on his mother’s face.


	2. All he's ever felt is held back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit bigger chapter here- rounding off parts is proving difficult!
> 
> The chapter in which Marco talks to horses like they're people, gets his social awkwardness pushed to the limit with the onslaught of the over-16 class and meets someone who's kiiiiind of important. Not that he knows that yet. Derp.

Marco Bodt was a worrier. He was a chronic worrier, even. He tended to overthink the simplest of situations and make them out to be something so unshakably bad that he would be able to talk himself out of doing them in the first place. He was also a sufferer of chronic _guilt_. He knew he had worried his mother with the feed incident, and the feeling ate away at his insides without any indication of stopping. So, despite his better judgement, he allowed himself to be shepherded into attending the showground with her. He didn’t put up much of a fight; he knew he wanted to go, really. The look of utter joy on his mother’s face when he said he would go was enough to make his mind up.

The day of the competition dawned bright with a threat of rain hanging in the sky, but it did nothing to dampen anyone’s mood. Eleanor woke her son at the crack of dawn, and it was with a groan and a grumble that Marco rose, raking a hand through his dark hair. “C’mon sweetie, rise and shine!” he heard the trill of his excitable mother and he flopped back onto the bed, another groan escaping him. He was not a morning person.

By the time he stumbled down to the kitchen, bracing himself on the doorway, he saw their small farmhouse kitchen was, for once, filled with people. “Good morning!” they all chorused, far too cheery for this time of the morning. He grunted and limped over to the kettle, flicking the switch and setting about making a cup of coffee. Sleep still clung to his eyelids, and he rubbed them as he waited for the kettle to boil.

The staff of the riding stables was few, but they were like an extended family to Marco and his mother. They had been there for Eleanor through the incident with Marco’s father, and hadn’t left since. A lot of them even worked for half the salary they were owed because they knew how Eleanor struggled to keep afloat with the finances. Marco turned back from the kettle to look at them all in turn.

The two instructors, Hanji and Erwin, sat at opposite ends of the table. Hanji was bubbly and bright, her hair always plucked into an untidy ponytail and a constant smile on her face. She was very enthusiastic in her teaching, but was often a little too full-on for the beginners to handle. She was a bit of a crackpot when it came to training techniques, always wittering on about the next big thing she’d read on the internet or in a weird book she found in the library, and only the students with the strongest of wills had the heart to dissuade her from her trend of the week. One month Marco had caught her smearing baby oil all over the ponies’ forelegs and claiming that it would lessen their chance of developing laminitis. It was no surprise, therefore, when he found out that she had attended (and failed) veterinary college.

Erwin couldn’t be more different; coming to Jinae as a transfer student from a university he never returned to, Erwin’s accent had never fully left him, making him the resident heart-throb for all the teenage girls. He didn’t exactly help himself; he was handsome and charming, and knew exactly what to say to get the kids to do what he wanted. He wasn’t just a good teacher- he was also a great rider. Erwin could ride anything, be it a stropping pony or a bucking thoroughbred. Marco had once seen Erwin grab a bolting horse by the reins and get it to stop without even having to raise his voice. The horse just stopped and stared at him. The man was a gift, and Eleanor and Marco were lucky to have him.

What made Marco stop was the fact that there were two people sat eating toast at his table that he usually only saw in the arena. Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman were staring at him as though he was an alien in his own kitchen. He nearly dropped his spoon.

“Oh. H-hey guys,” he said. His voice was cracked with the remnants of sleep still fighting to escape. He tried to lean on the top behind him, and missed. Cue blushing fit.

“Smooth, Marco, real smooth,” Erwin quipped, taking a gulp of coffee with a grin. Marco blushed even more at that, and turned back to making his own coffee.

“Wh-what are you guys doing here so early?” he called over his shoulder, trying to sound as casual as possible as he spooned sugar into his cup. Not having to keep eye contact proved easier for him.

“Eren’s dad could only drop us off at this time, otherwise we’d have to walk,” Mikasa answered. “Besides, Eren’s really bad at waking up. He gets really grouchy.”

“I am not!” Eren snapped.

“I rest my case,” Mikasa sighed.

Marco took his place at the table and took an experimental sip of coffee. It was a bit strong, but he didn’t mind. He needed all the energy he could get. “A-are you going to help us get things ready?” he asked them, trying out a smile.

“If you need the help, sure,” Mikasa said. She was a girl of little words, Marco noticed; when she was in lessons she was one of the only ones who was actually focused on her horse’s movements and not laughing and chatting with the others. Did that make her ambitious or lonely? Marco wasn’t sure. She couldn’t be lonely, not with…

“Oh hell no, I didn’t sign up for that!” Eren. And Marco thought _he_ was bad in the mornings. The younger boy growled and slapped his own cheek to keep himself awake. “What are you gonna have us do? Because I am _not_ shovelling shit at six in the morning.”

“Don’t complain, Eren!” Hanji piped up, devouring her last piece of toast as she spoke. Toast crumbs were sprayed all over the table as a result. “If you do that you’ll get stuck with the bad jobs!”

“Will I hell.”

“I- er- don’t know. I just do what I’m told,” Marco chuckled, bringing the conversation back to the question. “Mum’s the boss.”

“Of course I am, otherwise no work would get done around here,” Eleanor said, appearing from the hallway. She was wearing her best clothes, and her hair was plucked back into a slightly more elegant ponytail than normal. Her smile broadened when she caught sight of her son making weak conversation. “Oh, sleepy head is up, finally! That means you can all start getting things started!”

She ran through the itinerary like it was a military operation, explaining that she and Marco had already cleaned the tack and polished the boots, and all that was really needed was for the horses to get groomed and then loaded onto the trailer. Their old horse trailer was falling apart at the seams, and was rusting in some places too. It also only took two horses at a time, so Eleanor explained how they would have to go in shifts. Hanji and Erwin nodded as she spoke, finishing up their breakfasts with slightly more haste. Marco had heard it all before, and he was sure they had too, but it was nice to know where you stood on mornings that were to be as hectic as this. After her run-through Eleanor stopped, hands on her hips. “So, are we ready?”

“Yup!” Hanji downed the last of her coffee and set it down on the table like it was a tankard of ale. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

“And kick Trost’s asses!” Eren chipped in.

“That’s the spirit!” Eleanor grinned. “Come on guys! We're meeting Connie and Sasha at the showgrounds!”

Marco whined for his deprived stomach, but scraped his chair back from the table and followed the group out into the mild sunlight. They had four horses in suitable enough a condition to compete, and four kids to ride them. At least, Marco thought there was four…

“There’s five. Five horses,” his mother was telling Hanji.

“What? Since when?” the other woman asked. “Did you buy another horse without telling us, Ellie?”

“No, no. We might take Magic, just in case. But Eren wanted to give Titan a try.”

Marco’s stomach fluttered, but he said nothing. Eren glanced back at him instinctively, frowning, but Marco offered him a weak smile. _It’s fine it’s fine he can do what he likes he can handle it you know he can he can handle it much better than you ever could…_

“Huh. Titan? That’s a big risk,” Erwin said. “Eren’s never ridden him before, has he?”

“Well…” Eleanor trailed off. Colour rose in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sunshine.

Marco didn’t want to look at her. He felt sick. Eren had been riding Titan. _His_ Titan. He knew it. There was no other explanation; his mother wouldn’t have let Eren take Titan unless she knew he could ride him. It must have been when he helped Hanji take the younger children out on the walk-outs, when he was distracted and out of the way. He fought down the urge to cause a scene and asked in a voice barely higher than a whisper, “I’ll go and get Jester ready.”

“Marco…” she began.

“I’m fine, mum.” His words were cold, but he was already walking around to the back of the stables. He didn’t want to look back- he knew they would all be staring at him. He wasn’t allowed to get jealous, he reminded himself. His mother was doing it for Titan. He needed to be ridden, and she had a willing volunteer. Eren could ride Titan to his heart’s content for all he cared- he could look after him, build a bond with him… Marco sighed. Who was he fooling? He couldn’t even fool himself. The very thought of Titan going to someone else made his stomach knot together. He shook himself and continued on, ignoring the burning eyes on his back.

Jester was the only other piebald in the stables. Raven’s half-brother, Jester was a little chunkier in form and with a little more feather on his legs, and as Marco approached him his ears pitched up and he let out a small whickering noise of greeting. Marco smiled. Jester was one of the more vocal horses of the yard, and when he slipped the bolt back on the door and fastened the headcollar over the massive head the gelding didn’t hesitate in belting out a loud whinny. “Shush, you, shush,” Marco said, giving him a soft pat. The noise woke up the other inhabitants, and Marco hated how his eyes immediately fell on the black thoroughbred head that bobbed out of the stable door curiously, a low whinny of reply brewing in his chest. Marco sighed and led Jester out, making sure to avoid all eye contact with his own horse.

Mikasa was already braiding Raven’s tail when Marco tied Jester in the yard. He had to admit, Mikasa was a fast worker. She knew what needed doing and did it without a moment’s pause. Raven turned her elegant head towards him and neighed at Jester, as if asking why on earth _he_ was coming with them, and Marco couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Your brother can come, too. He’s going to look just as pretty as you once I’m done with him,” he said to the mare.

Mikasa peered out from behind Raven’s rump, eyebrow raised. “Are you talking to her?” she asked.

Marco blushed furiously and picked up a curry comb to avoid his awkwardness. “Er- sorta, yeah,” he said, starting on Jester’s patchwork coat with heavy strokes. “They like hearing people’s voices. Makes them feel human.”

“But they’re horses,” Mikasa stated. It wasn’t a ‘ _you’re so stupid’_ tone, but it might as well have been for all the good it did Marco’s self-esteem. He merely shrugged and carried on brushing, his blush still burning into his freckles. “Er… Marco, I wanted to ask you something,” Mikasa said as Marco dropped the curry comb and moved onto the body brush.

He frowned. What would Mikasa Ackerman need to ask him about? What could he possibly know that she didn’t? Still, conversation was conversation, and Marco was grateful for her attempt. “Uh, sure, shoot,” he said, ducking under Jester’s neck to get at his other, far less muddied side.

“I'm sorry if this is tactless, but… you were a really good rider once. A _really_ good rider. I’ve seen some of your awards in the house, and you looked like you really enjoyed it. Did you lose your nerve that much that you had to stop?”

Marco’s brush-strokes stopped. He frowned. He thought. How to put it? He shrugged, attempting nonchalance despite the fact his heart was beating at a thousand times a second. “That was a long time ago. Some people say if you have a bad experience, you either conquer your nerves or your nerves conquer you. I guess my nerve just got the better of me.” The weak chuckle he tried out ended up getting stuck in his throat. It was no laughing matter.

Mikasa was frowning. “Still,” she said, running her hand over Raven’s haunches as she talked, “it’s sad. To hear about, I mean. You should try again. You could compete today- I bet you’d crush Trost into the dust.”

Marco laughed good-naturedly. “I doubt that very much. I think you’re the one in with a chance.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Raven can be quite unpredictable. Sometimes she gets too excited and doesn’t look where she’s going.”

“You handle her well.” Marco smiled shyly and ducked behind Jester’s back to stop Mikasa from seeing his head combust with how red it was getting.

“Thanks.” He could hear the smile in her voice. It changed though after a pause. “Are you sure you’re okay with Eren riding your horse?”

Marco’s blush seemed to drain away like a plug had been pulled. _Your horse._ “Oh, er, yeah, it’s no problem,” he said-  _It is a problem it’s a big problem he’s my horse nobody else’s I want to ride him but I’m scared okay I’m so scared and it’s a problem-_ “He needs exercise.”

“Yeah, but… I guess if that was my horse I wouldn’t want anyone else riding him,” Mikasa said.

Marco sighed. “Well, I can’t ride him, so I don’t have that right. I’m sure your brother will do just fine, especially with his secret practice sessions.” His words came out sharper than he expected, and he immediately met her surprised eyes. “Sorry,” he apologised immediately, “it’s just… it’s a sore subject for me.” His leg twitched as he spoke. _A sore subject in more ways than one_ , he thought bitterly.

As if by magic, Titan then appeared. He came around the corner like a dark phantom, snorting and blowing and muscle rippling under his inky coat. He was prancing excitedly at the thought of being outside, his nostrils flaring pinkly as he danced on his hooves, and Eren had a job of controlling him. Marco’s heart sank. _Eren was leading him._ The boy had a look of grim determination on his face as he led the gigantic gelding forwards, his knuckles white on the leadrope and teeth gritted together. Titan was fighting the rope with gusto, his ears slightly back as he watched the small two-legged trying to yank him forward. He tossed his head and arched his neck, and seemed to stare at Eren with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Marco’s jaw clenched. _He doesn’t like you pulling at his mouth like that, he never liked people yanking him like a mule, he doesn’t respond well to it,_ he found himself thinking, and cursed himself, continuing to work on Jester with increased effort. He didn’t have the right. Eren could do what he wanted.

His heart jumped back two places when Titan turned his head and stared right at him. The dark eyes locked in on Marco, and the giant suddenly stopped fussing. Marco gulped. He could swear that Titan was watching him and remembering. His ears pricked forwards in a gesture of total friendliness, and he let out a soft whinny. Marco grabbed onto Jester’s mane, his breath coming in short pants. Titan had called for him. He had called, like he used to whenever Marco went to fill his water bucket, to feed him, to groom him, to take him for a ride…

He bit his lip and looked away, his fingers trembling as he tried to knot Jester’s thick mane into an acceptable braid. “Eren, tie him up over here and give him a quick brush down!” he heard his mother order, and with a clattering of hooves and a single curse from Eren, Titan was led away. Marco was ashamed at how much relief stole through him. He began to think that this was going to be a very long day.

+++

The showgrounds was, as Marco predicted, full of bustling people and squealing horses. With Eren and Mikasa chipping in, the horses were ready on time and the arrival to the showgrounds went relatively smoothly. After a discussion with Eren, Eleanor decided to leave Hercules at the stables and simply take Titan along with the other three horses. Marco realised he’d been nursing a shred of hope that Eren would change his mind, and once that was crushed underfoot he chose to avoid the other boy as much as possible. All of the horses had loaded fine, and the last shift saw Titan and Jester tramping up the trailer ramp with little more than a few head shakes. Marco had been the one to secure the trailer in place, and as he peeked over the divide he saw Titan pawing the ground and tossing his head, the promise of a journey charging him with energy. Marco suppressed a shudder, and ran to the front of the trailer to shake the thought from his mind.

Thankfully the journey was quiet and short, and the moment they got out of the trailer Marco’s senses were assaulted by everything equine. The smell of hay, the satisfying thud of hooves on springy grass, the excited whinnies from horse to horse… Marco smiled as he took it all in, his nerves melting away. He always forgot just how much he enjoyed these places. Horses of all shapes and sizes stood being fussed over by their riders, some excited, some half-asleep and snoozing, others paying more attention to slobbering over painstakingly neat showjumping jackets their riders had paid a small fortune for than standing obediently. Marco looked around for the others, but all was lost in the haze of colour and people and animals. He hoped Hanji hadn’t wandered off far; they didn’t need to write another written apology about Hanji trying to sprinkle pepper on horses’ noses for good luck. There was a crudely painted sign driven into the ground beside the trailer declaring it to be Bodt Riding Stables’ spot, so he assumed the others couldn’t be far away.

“Sweetie, could you get Jester out? You can keep Titan in there until I come back if you like- I need to sign us all in,” Eleanor called out as she slammed the car door shut. Before Marco could say a word she had strode off in the direction of the registration tents. He sighed and glanced back to the trailer, his heart racing. He pulled back the bar and lowered it as carefully as he was able, but the ear-splitting neigh that came roaring from Jester made him drop it an inch or so before he was meant to. He straightened up and glared at the eager paint. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Jester,” he muttered, folding his arms. “Make fun of the twitchy guy, har-de-har-har.” Jester whinnied in response, head bobbing up and down.

He glanced over to Titan and saw that the other gelding was paying no attention to his travel companion, his gaze directed on the carnivalesque activity going on outside. He pawed the ground like a bull before a charge, the rope tying him to the trailer slack as his leg pummelled the steel floor with a loud _BANG BANG BANG._ It was making passers-by stop and stare, and Marco cringed. “H-hey, take it easy,” he said softly, stepping a little closer to the agitated horse. Titan snorted and continued on with his one-horse band, bringing down his hoof unmercifully. If he kept it up the bottom of the trailer wouldn’t thank him for it. It was this thought that drove Marco to duck under the divide and lay a quivering hand on Titan’s broad shoulder, his mind trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t really spoken to his horse properly in ages. Titan’s coat was sleek and soft like the skin of a calf, and Marco could feel the immense muscle underneath pounding away at the ground. He felt nauseous. “Hey, c-c’mon, easy,” he said, his attempts to be soothing failing as his voice broke. “Y-you’re alright, you big b-baby.” Titan tossed his head and let a grumble come free, his head turning to Marco inquisitively. He looked him right in the eye, and pawed the ground again. _BANG BANG BANG._ For a moment, Marco forgot his nerve and smirked at him. “Don’t you strop on me,” he muttered, stroking Titan’s shoulder in a smooth motion. His hand was still shaking. “You’re going to behave today, you hear me? Behave for Eren. Be a good boy, yeah?” Titan’s pawing stopped, and Marco was brought out of his spell.

He ducked away from the seeking nose and unclipped Jester’s lead rope, trembling from head to foot. He had spoken to his horse. He had spoken to him, and patted him, and stopped him from playing about. It was a tiny success, but a success nonetheless. He smiled to himself. His fear fluctuated sometimes; he had his good days and he had his bad days. Today was a good day, it seemed.

“Hey.”

He spun around with Jester’s rope in his hands. He hadn’t recognised the voice, and it sounded blunt and direct. There was a boy stood at the end of the trailer holding his mount by the reins, a half-smirk on his face. Marco didn’t recognise him by look either; in fact, he was pretty sure he had never seen him before in his life. However, there was a spark of familiarity which confused him. The boy was a little shorter than Marco and more wiry too, his form slender and agile, but he stood with the confidence of someone feet taller. There were hints of ashen blonde hair poking out of his riding hat that was crammed half-heartedly on his head, the straps dangling uselessly at his chin, and Marco was tempted to chastise him- but thought better of it. He was staring right at him, and the way he stared reminded Marco of someone trying to decipher a book in another language. It was a little discomfiting. “I… I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” Marco asked.

“You see anyone else around here worth talking to?” was the sarky reply.

Marco frowned. “Er… I dunno.” He wasn’t being helpful, he knew that, but he wasn’t good with people he’d known for years. Complete strangers were a whole other ball game.

The boy shrugged as though it didn’t matter, and then gestured with his reins-clad hand at Titan. “That your horse?” he asked.

Marco’s blood ran cold. “Er…uh…sorta.”

The boy smirked. “How can he ‘sorta’ be yours?”

“W-well, he is mine, but I’m not riding him today.” _Today_. A little white lie. It hardly mattered; this boy didn’t know him, so it wasn’t going to hurt anyone. He didn’t need to explain that he hadn’t so much as sat on a horse since he was fifteen.

“Hmm.” The boy looked thoughtful. “I figured as much. You’re not exactly decked out for it, are you?”

Marco looked down at himself. A muddied t-shirt, faded jeans and a pair of battered half-chaps. Not really showjumping material. Looking back at the boy, he saw pristine beige jodhpurs and a dark blue competition jacket without a speck of dirt on it. There couldn’t be more of a difference between the two of them. He chuckled. “Not really, no.” He paused. “Wh-why do you ask?”

The boy shrugged. “No reason. You just looked like you were handling him pretty well in the trailer. He was making a fucking racket and you just looked at him and he shut up. Pretty impressive.”

Marco fought to hide his blush. “Er, th-thank you, but I’m really not very good w-with him.”

“Eh, you’re too modest.” _And you, random stranger I’ve just met, have no idea._ “He’s a nice looking horse. Good breeding?”

Marco looked blank. “I suppose so.”

The boy nodded. “Looks it. Stallion?”

“Gelding.”

“Shame. He’d make good babies,” the boy said thoughtfully. He shook himself then, a frown patterning his face. “Ah, sorry, distracted. Probably think I’m a right nerd just walking up to you right?” His half-smirk returned.

“Oh, n-no, it’s fine!” Marco put on his best smile. “Compliments are always appreciated.” _And people who aren’t just talking to me to throw a pity party._ “I’m sure Titan appreciates it too.”

“Titan?” the boy’s eyebrows rose.

“Ah- that’s his name. Titan.” Marco smiled sheepishly.

“Titan….” The boy nodded. “Suits him. Who are you?”

Marco blinked. “Oh, s-sorry! I’m Marco.”

“Well, good to meet you, Marco. I’m Je-”

“Kirschtein!” Came the bellowing command from the practice area. “Get over here and start warming that mare up or I swear to God you’re gonna be the one with a saddle on your back!”

The boy huffed. “Aaand that’s my cue. Fucking Levi. Gotta go, sorry- I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again. See ya, Marco.” He gave a half-hearted wave and led his horse on.

Marco was a little stunned. He was often the sort of person who seemed approachable; everyone would come up to him at the competitions and have a quick chat, his gentle but often blunt honesty winning them over in a heartbeat. Even so, riders his own age often gave him a wide berth if they knew anything about him. Marco was fine with that. But that boy… he really did look familiar, and he was pretty friendly… maybe it was the name ‘Kirschtein’ that rang a bell… He smiled after his retreating back until Jester butted him squarely between the shoulder blades. “Ow- Jester!” he scolded, dusting himself off. The gelding stared innocently back.

“Heyy, there’s my handsome man!” crowed a loud female voice, and before Marco could turn around he was set upon by an excitable brunette. “Marcooo, thank you for getting my Jester baby all spruced up!” she cried.

“Oof, hey Sasha,” he said, wriggling out of the brunette's grip. Sasha had a big thing about invading somebody’s personal space as much as was humanly possible. “It’s no problem. H-how are you feeling about the course?”

She shrugged, swinging her riding hat back and forth by its straps. “Doesn’t look too bad. They have a few of the old fences back for another run from what I can see- they have the Wall combination back.”

Marco grimaced at the thought. The Wall combination was a tricky collection of fences, growing in height as they went along, and with barely enough time for the horse and rider to check themselves. Marco had seen many a good riding team make a mistake on those fences that cost them both time and placings. “They looked tricky last year,” he admitted.

Sasha nodded. “Tell me about it. Connie’s crapping himself. You know Pegasus has such a scopey jump he might end up crashing into the last fence, and Connie can’t deal with _another_ fall- he’s only just got over the last one!”

Marco smiled politely, secretly hating the fact that Connie could just get right back on after a fall or refusal. He handed over Jester’s lead-rope to Sasha. “His tack’s in the back of the trailer, I’ll just go get it for you,” he said.

Sasha gave him a beaming smile. “Thanks Marco! You’re a lifesaver!”

He smiled again and went back to the trailer, fishing out Jester’s gleaming tack with a grunt of effort. He thought back to the other teenagers and let the smile fade. They were only a year younger than him at a push, yet he felt like he was far older. They were friendly, and sincere, but there was little else there; they were just being polite because he was the boss’s son. Mikasa was the only one who seemed to care, oddly enough, and she usually kept to herself when she wasn’t fussing over Eren.

Once Sasha tacked Jester up and led him away, searching tirelessly for the nearest food stand, Marco relaxed against the side of the trailer, waiting for his mother to return. She’d probably got caught by some old friend, or was too busy checking out the competition. He didn’t mind; he liked to stand and watch the riders passing by. He liked to guess who would do well out of the group, and he often surprised himself with how right he turned out to be when he watched them later.

He couldn’t resist watching the showjumping; the power of the horses, the concentration of the riders, the tense moment when a pole wobbled in its cradle… it was an amazing thing to watch. Marco was always on the edge of his seat, nails biting into his palms as he willed the horse over the fences with all his might. And the _speed_ of some of them! Showjumping was what let the niggling thoughts back into his mind, the thoughts that wished he had his nerve, wish he had the guts to get back into the saddle and take those fences on. Then reality would hit, and Marco would just shake his head at how stupid that all sounded.

Eren still hadn’t come to retrieve Titan, and Marco debated on letting him out to stretch his legs, but it only took one look for him to tighten his folded arms and stay put. Eren wouldn’t be long anyway. He was probably getting food, or checking out the competition. Eren liked to go around intimidating the people he was competing against. Marco never saw the point in it, being unshakable himself, but there were some that broke with mind games, and that was something Eren was excellent at. Either that or he would boast about how much he was going to kick the poor rival’s ass on the course.

Sure enough, his mother appeared from the crowd at a jog with Eren in tow. He was dressed in a jacket that was slightly too big for him, and with a painful stab Marco was reminded of how he used to look in those jackets. “Hey sweetie, sorry I took so long, the line was murder! Did Sasha find you? The others are already down at the practice arena,” Eleanor asked, breathless as she reached him.

“Yeah, she’s all set.” He fixed his gaze on Eren, and failed to smile. “Are you here for him?”

Eren wet his lips and nodded. “Your mum reckons the more time I spend with him, the better he’ll work for me.” He looked uncomfortable. “Marco, are you sure about this? I know you said you were, but-”

“He’s fine, dear,” Eleanor cut in. “He understands that Titan needs it. Don’t you, Marco?”

It was a loaded question. Her voice was strained. Marco realised, in that moment, that seeing someone else ride Titan was going to be difficult for her, too. His shoulders slumped as he replied, “Yes, mum. I understand… but, er, Eren?”

Eren balked. “Yes?”

“Er…” Marco rubbed the back of his neck, his head turning to look over his shoulder. Titan was watching the group curiously, standing stock still as though ready to spring into life the second they allowed it. Marco’s voice was shaking as he said, “Titan has a s-sensitive mouth, you won’t have to pull on it too hard or he won’t like it… and... and he likes to take the corners sharp so watch out for that…”

“I know Marco. I remember.” Eren’s smile was like a dagger in the heart, and Marco had to stop himself from hitting him. As if he could ever hit anyone anyway.

Instead, he muttered under his breath that Titan’s saddle and bridle were in the back (he knew he wouldn’t be able to give it over himself) and made his excuses to go to the practice arena. His mother let him go, and he was thankful for it. He found himself wondering whether that ashen-haired boy with the mare would be there, and that wondering quickly turned to hope.


	3. Making Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, man I'm awful. 
> 
> In which Marco reunites with a long-lost friend and watches the thrills and spills of his teammates in the jump offs...and also maaaaybe has the eye for someone else...
> 
> Note: there is a bit of showjump-y terminology but I tried to explain them as best as I could. 
> 
> If you're interested though, this is what the oxer would look like: http://www.queenholme.com/marshall/marshall-oxer.jpg
> 
> And the Liverpool at the end of the combination: http://www.sebastiansproducts.com/bluejump-liverpool.jpg
> 
> Again, comments are so so SO appreciated: they keep me motivated! :)

Marco knew his way to the practice arena almost instinctively. He crossed the path trod by hundreds of hooves and made his way to the front of the fence, his limp almost completely gone in his eagerness to reach it. Upon finding just the right spot, he let his eyes take in the large number of riders and their varying horses. He singled out Connie and Sasha immediately. Sasha was stood in the centre eating a rather large burger whilst Jester looked on hungrily, and Connie was giving a very animated pep talk to Pegasus, his large grey cob with a doleful expression on its face. Erwin was stood by the side of the practice jump, watching the approaching rider with complete focus. In a blur of black and white Marco noticed Mikasa point Raven at the jump and sit to the mare’s elongated stride. Raven’s take-off was excellent, Mikasa’s position exceptional, and as the pair landed Erwin even gave her a small round of applause. Marco smiled. They had a good chance this year. His mother was right.

Mikasa’s expression suddenly soured, and Marco could hear her angry warning as a dappled grey horse and rider bolted past them at a furious pace. Their sudden appearance surprised the usually unflinching Raven, and the mare practically jumped to the left to avoid the racing horse. Mikasa was furious; she managed to rein Raven back before any serious damage was done, but she was twisted in her saddle shouting insults at their retreating backs. She was still shouting as the pair cleared the fence cleanly, and to Marco’s surprise the girl and horse turned, dropping down to a trot as they neared her. He recognised the robin’s egg blue competition jacket of Trost Academy, and as the girl pulled her horse up alongside Mikasa the two girls gave each other a look of complete distaste. If looks could kill, Marco reckoned, they would both be sagging in their saddles right about now.

“Marco? Is that you?”

His attention diverted from the drama playing out in the arena beyond, he turned around at the sound of his name. His eyes widened as he saw a familiar blonde boy walking towards him. “Armin?” he questioned blankly.

“Oh my God, it is you!” Armin’s face split into a smile and his pace got quicker. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Where have you been?”

Armin was an old customer of the stables, and a friend of the family. He’d had to stop going after his father’s business went down the drain and the family’s money followed suit, but he had never lost his passion for the sport. Marco and Armin had been firm friends for quite some time, and even competed together at the county level. But like all things after the accident, things changed and the two drifted apart. It didn’t help that Armin’s family moved away to Trost, either- but Marco wasn’t bitter. Sometimes, things happened that way. It was life.

Marco grinned. “Same old place, helping mum at the stables. What other life do I have, right?” He glanced at Armin again and chuckled. “My God, you’ve grown up!”

“So have you!” Armin replied joyfully. “You’re so tall!”

“Thanks. Still waiting on your growth spurt?”

Armin laughed. “It’s bad genes, and you know it!” He leaned on the fence beside him, and Marco almost felt like it was old times again, back with Armin checking out the competition. He was waiting for Armin to comment on the way a horse was picking up its feet when the other boy said, “I was going to ride today, but the team I’m on doesn’t think I’m good enough yet.”

Marco frowned. “Well, we’re all pretty certain that Connie’s going to fail majestically in the first class but we still let him ride. That sucks.” He gave Armin a pat on the back.

Despite his attempt at comforting the short boy, Armin didn’t seem too upset. He merely shrugged and leant closer to the fencing. “It’s okay, I see their point. They want to get results, and I won’t give them that. It’s reasonable enough.”

Marco groaned. That sounded familiar. “Armin, tell me you’re not in Trost Riding Academy?” he said.

Armin blinked innocently. “Is that bad?”

Marco groaned louder. “My mum is going to disown you from our family,” he whined, sinking against the fence.

“Wow, that bad huh?” Armin frowned. “How come?”

“Long story. Mum doesn’t like them, and they’re not massive fans of us.”

Armin grinned. “Aw, so are we like Romeo and Romeo? ‘ _Two households, both alike in dignity’…_ ”

“Shut up!” Marco laughed. He hadn’t laughed so freely in a while, and it felt good. “Are you staying around here, then?”

“All summer. I got a job in the little bookshop in the village. It’s not a big job but I felt like moving back here for a little while, see the old place again.” Armin smiled. “And I was actually kind of hoping I’d bump into you. I missed you in Trost, and I thought we could hang out in the summer.”

Marco thought his luck couldn’t get better. Armin was staying for that long? He couldn’t help the broad, genuine smile that spread across his face. “That’s great, Armin! I’d love to hang out with you, and you know you’re always welcome at mine- so long as you don’t mention the ‘Trost Academy’ thing.”

Armin laughed. “Oh, my lips are sealed. Don’t want to bear the wrath of Eleanor Bodt!” He went quiet then, and Marco presumed he was just thinking. Then he asked, a little more sombrely, “are you still not riding?”

Marco’s face fell. He knew the good feeling was too good to be true. “Armin…” he began.

“It’s a valid question. I’ve not seen you in years, Marco- I thought something might have changed.” Armin gave him a look that suggested he’d been expecting a change, and was sorely disappointed. Marco sighed. _You and me both, Armin._  

“Nope. Sorry. I still can’t go near a saddle without breaking out in a sweat… unless I’m cleaning it of course,” Marco said, chuckling a little to cover up his sorry excuse for a joke.

“You still love it though,” Armin pointed out. “I can see it. You look so alive when you watch them all.”

“Yeah, well I can feel alive on this side of the fence just fine, thank you.”

“No you can’t.” Armin’s soft reply almost choked Marco, and he focused back on the horses and riders, trying not to let it get to him. He knew he couldn’t. Armin could read him like a book. The only time he ever felt alive was when he was with horses, however corny that sounded. Armin realised the effect his words had, and checked himself. “So, what are you thinking? Any possible winners you can see?”

Marco chewed on his lip as he thought. “Mikasa,” he said honestly.

“Mikasa? I remember her. She’s still competing? She always looked so bored with everything.”

“No, no, she’s still competing. She’s on the piebald over there.”

Marco pointed her out to Armin, and the other boy smiled in recognition. “Oh yeah, I see her. She’s really pretty, Marco. Are you two a thing?”

“Wh-what?!” Marco felt the blush rise to his cheeks helplessly, and to his horror Mikasa chose that exact moment to catch his eye. Marco hid his face in his hands and let out a wailing noise. Oh God, this was getting worse and worse by the minute. “A-Armin, no!” he said between his fingers.

“I’m sorry!” Armin seemed just as horrified as Marco. “I thought you were! You always said you thought she was pretty!” he defended.

“Armin we were _thirteen,_ I would have been attracted to a trot pole!” Marco groaned. He peeked between his hands and saw that Mikasa was still staring at him, a small frown on her face. “Oh God help me she already thinks I’m weird, this isn’t going to help,” he said in a small voice.

“I’m so sorry!” Armin said, panicked. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you- oh no she’s looking!”

“Oh God oh God oh God.” The two boys stood cringing on the side of the fence like rumbled teenagers, both with faces hidden beneath their hands, and Marco was sure they looked beyond ridiculous.

“Hey short-ass, you perving on the ladies?” Marco’s head shot up at the voice. _His luck was just taking a nose-dive today, wasn’t it?_ The boy from earlier was sat on his mare on the other side of the fence, one brow raised comically as he glanced from one scarlet face to the other. His hair was still trying to escape his helmet, and his jacket was remarkably pristine despite the dust that was being kicked up in the arena. “You should be more subtle. You could stop traffic with that face, Arlert.”

“Shut up, Jean!” Armin said, and Marco noticed that his friend was just as bright as he was from second-hand embarrassment. “You’re a bigger perv than I am!” He was smiling. This Jean clearly wasn’t the usual stuck- up asshole that frequented these events. In any equestrian discipline, Marco had learnt to take the rough with the smooth. And toffee- nosed snobs were the roughest side of all.

Jean grinned toothily. “You wish, Armin.” He then focused on Marco and blinked. “Oh, hey you. Marco, right? Didn’t have you down for the perv type, but when in Rome do as the Armins do…

“ _Jean.”_

“Alright, sheesh. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” His mare chose the moment to shift underneath him, an ear flicking back as she eyed her fellow creatures racing past her. She wanted to run, Marco could see it in her, but all Jean did was to give a soft click with his tongue, a firm grip on the reins and she was quiet.

“Y-your horse is gorgeous,” Marco commented, eyeing her with appreciation. She was long-limbed and slender, rather like her rider, and her dark liver chestnut coat was gleaming in the weak sunlight. The only dash of white on her was a neat little star in the centre of her forehead, only visible because of her neatly braided forelock and mane. She shifted again at her mention, and a small crease appeared between Jean’s brows as he cajoled her into standing still. “She’s… just great.” He cringed at how lame he sounded. _Lame, Bodt. Lame lame lame lame LAME._

If it had sounded lame, it was lost on Jean. He smiled and gave her a swift pat. “Thanks. Her name’s Sina. This is her first competition, so we’ll see how she goes.”

“Is she your horse?”

Jean smiled. “Sorta.”

Marco heard his own words thrown back at him, and he grinned. “Fine. How do you know Armin?”

“Well, he’s at Trost Academy with me-”

Marco froze. Oh no, not another one. And Jean seemed so nice, too. That explained his beautiful horse and latest season equipment. Mentally shaking his head, Marco chided himself for his prejudice. _That’s not fair, Marco,_ he thought to himself. _Armin’s a nice guy, maybe this Jean is a nice guy too. You can’t go around judging people- you don’t have many friends as it is because you’re such an unsociable little twa-_

“- but Armin and I go way back,” Jean continued, shaking Marco out of his stream of self-hatred. “We were hitting the circuits when we were kids, and the little shit was always _so_ close to beating me.” Jean gave Armin a wink, and the blonde made a face.

Marco frowned, returning to Earth with a bump. “You did the circuits too?” he asked.

Jean’s playful expression vanished. “‘Too’? You competed?”

Marco went quiet. He didn’t like to talk about it much. Competing in the circuit trials had been the greatest moments of his young life, and reminded him of just how much he’d lost. Armin answered for him. “Competed in them? Marco _slaughtered_ them! He was brilliant, he even took the regional championships home once!” he said. He sounded prouder than Marco felt.

“Really?” Jean sounded impressed.

“Yeah! He used to ride a chestnut with knobbly knees, didn’t you Marco? What was its name? Chad, Challenger…?”

“Champ,” Marco corrected him. He felt ill. “His name was Champ.”

Jean’s eyes widened. “Hold on. You mean to tell me that this guy is the freckled wonder with the ugly horse that got a perfect score on that Wings course when I was twelve?”

“Yup!” Armin said proudly. “Though he doesn’t like to talk about it. He’s very modest.” Armin said that as though that was the problem, and Marco was grateful. “And… ugly horse? That’s really mean…”

“It’s alright,” Marco said. “Champ’s not going to win a beauty contest any time soon.”

Jean looked impressed. Beyond impressed, he looked like he was in _awe_. Something prickled the back of Marco’s neck, and he had the sudden desire to curl up in a small ball like a startled hedgehog. It was the first time he paid attention to Jean’s eyes. They were the strangest colour; like amber, a molten amber that had the beginnings of flame contained inside. Amber-fire. They were hypnotising, and Marco couldn’t take his eyes off him. “Well, er, wow. I didn’t think it was you, man. You’ve changed,” Jean said, and managed to make it sound complimentary. “But seriously, you were fucking phenomenal. I bet you and that black monster of yours are unstoppable.”

Marco’s smile faltered. “Not really,” he said, lowering his voice to little more than a mumble. He felt Armin grab his arm, thumb stroking the skin he found there in an attempt to be comforting, but didn’t react.

Jean noticed the motion, and looked like he was about to say something. But the moment his mouth opened, a bad tempered looking man appeared out of the ether of rolling hooves. “Kirschtein! How many times do I have to tell you?” he snarled. He was a short man, shorter than most, and Marco was certain he would only be the height of Armin if the two stood together. Short-ass syndrome? Seemed likely. He looked like he had a particularly bad smell under his nose, and as he approached them he gave Marco and Armin a scathing look. “Having a chit-chat with the groundlings, are we?” he sneered.

Jean rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake Levi, I’m just being friendly,” he muttered.

The little man snatched for Jean’s collar, and it was only the boy’s height that saved him. Levi made an unimpressed ‘tch’ing noise. “For the sake of nothing you little shit, get back to warming up. Your mare’s muscles will cramp up if you don’t keep her moving. Your father wouldn’t be happy to find out his prodigy is too busy chatting up bystanders.”

Marco gave a wide-eyed glance to Armin. Jean’s _father_ ran Trost Riding Academy?! He’d never seen the owner of the rival stables, but now he thought about it, it made sense. He wasn’t sure why, but Jean screamed ‘son of someone important’, and the way he controlled his horse suggested an air of experience that could only come from bloodline. But the son of their rival? Marco almost hit his head on the fence post repeatedly with how cliché it all was. All Armin did in response was to give an unconcerned motion that seemed to ask, _Does it matter?_

Jean shot Levi such a look of loathing Marco took a step back. The amber eyes blazed. “He can think what he likes. I’m already in his bad books for refusing to wear the shitty uniform,” he said in a voice that mimicked his tormentor’s.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get over there.” 

Jean made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. Levi reached for Sina’s reins and the mare snapped her head back, eyes on the small man as he forcibly dragged her around. “Aw, c’mon, really?!” Jean shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. He turned back in his saddle and gave a weak wave to Marco and Armin. “I’ll catch up with you later, once Lieutenant Leprechaun gets his riding crop out of his ass!” he called out.

Marco stared after him in a mixture of shock and admiration. The way that trainer was looking, if Jean wasn’t the son of his employer he would be in deep, deep trouble. Maybe he still was. He only paid attention to Armin when the blonde let out a low chuckle. “He’s dead. So dead.”

“He is?” Marco frowned. “But he’s the boss’s son.”

“Levi doesn’t care about that,” Armin scoffed. “To be honest, he’s probably more likely to be hard on him. He doesn’t like being ordered around, and he’s pretty strict.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Marco watched as Levi led the mare over to the assembled blue-clad group and gave Jean’s knee such a punch the boy howled in pain. He winced. “How do you stand that, Armin?”

His friend gave a smile. “He’s not all bad. He gets results, and I really respect him. Rumour has it he was a horse-breaker in France once- if a horse had problems, he was the guy to call.”

Levi had moved onto Sina now, and he was scratching a spot on her hindquarter with a soft expression on his face, a smile even threatening to break free when she raised her leg and twitched it like a dog. “Doesn’t he do that anymore?” Marco asked.

“Not really. He does from time to time; he has a horse or two brought to the Academy for him to work on sometimes, but it doesn’t happen as often as it used to. I think he likes to pay more attention to us now.”

A sound system overhead suddenly informed them that it was time to start the first heats, and all thought of Levi was forgotten. Armin bolted from the fence and locked his arm in Marco’s, pulling him right along with him. Marco let himself be dragged, though it sent fiery shocks of heat into his leg. He couldn’t stop the nervous jitters, the feverish racing of his heart and the squeamish feeling in the pit of his stomach as he half-jogged, half-limped to keep up with Armin. Showjumping still felt so great to be a part of, and he was sure he could see Armin casting glances over his shoulder as they fought to make their way to the competition arena. He was smiling. He knew.

Marco couldn’t last long standing still. He was alright if he kept moving, if he was kept busy and distracted, but if he stopped for a moment too long the pain would come back. He’d gotten used to it by now; it had just become part of who he was, something he couldn’t change. Still, he couldn’t stand right at the fence like he preferred to; instead, Armin got them good seats in the tiny little stands and ignored the looks of disdain cast their way by the older people. “Don’t worry about them, Marco,” he muttered as they shoved past a rather annoyed old woman. “They don’t know.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” Marco sighed. Armin didn’t respond to that, merely kept moving down the line. They finally settled in the middle of the second row, Armin’s seat numbers clutched tightly in his hand, and gave Marco a little nudge. “Hey, look at that course. Looks amazing, right?”

The fences looked familiar, Marco noted as he leaned out of his seat to get a closer look. There were eight fences in total, with four of those being simple enough looking verticals spread out between the different fences. There were two Oxers, one Boxed with the poles at the same height, and the other Ascending in height. Oxers proved little problems so long as the horse hit them at the right angle, and had the strength to keep their jump strong enough to power over two fences instead of one. There was an actual ‘wall’ jump too that looked deceivingly solid; the ‘bricks’ that seemed to stand so firm would crumble to the ground if a horse’s hoof so much as tapped it on landing. Marco had always hated walls. He then paid attention to the jump Sasha had told him about.

The infamous Wall combination was fence number six, and even from his place in the stands Marco felt daunted by it. The poles were slate grey and lined up to prevent any gaps, and they were a few inches taller than the other fences from the beginning. The last part of the combination was a Liverpool style fence with a little pool underneath it. It was as much of a Joker fence as they could allow in such a competition, and it was worrying to see. “Connie’s going to kill himself if he tries to get Pegasus over that thing,” Marco said in a faint voice.

“Connie will be fine,” Armin scoffed. “So long as he trusts Pegasus- that horse will do the rest. He was always a good jumper when I rode him.” Marco tried to look like he agreed with him. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

His mother joined them in the stands a few minutes later with Hanji in tow. After the initial delight at seeing Armin (and a crushing hug that made the poor boy’s eyes pop out of his sockets) Eleanor passed over a carton filled with hot chips. “I thought you’d get hungry,” she explained to Marco. “I know you eat when you get nervous.”

“Er- thanks.” Marco took a few and then offered Armin some. “How are they all doing?”

“They seem alright,” Hanji said, reaching over to snatch the carton from them both and shovelling a handful of chips into her waiting mouth. “I think they’re all a little worried about that combination though. Eren’s pretty worried, he’s not sure how Titan will go in general, let alone how he’ll react to the wall combination.”

Marco’s stomach clenched at the thought. Would he be able to cope, seeing his horse out there being ridden by someone else? He didn’t like the idea of it, he knew that much. Maybe things would change when…

“They’re starting! Look!” Hanji almost flew forward in her eagerness, eyes bright with enthusiasm as the first horse and rider lined up at the start. Marco didn’t recognise them, and assumed they were either from a private yard or the rider was someone who could afford to own his horse without the support of a stables. The horse was tossing its head and dancing on its toes, and the rider was finding it difficult to control. Once the bell rang for the start of the time, the pair sprang forwards and began their round. The first two jumps they cleared easily, the oxers too, and then-

“Oh, _bad luck_ ,” Eleanor tutted as the horse refused the wall jump. Marco paid more attention to the chips in his lap, conserving his excitement for when the Bodt Stables prodigy were let loose on the course, and completely missed the knocked pole from the wall combination. With those penalties the pair didn’t have much of a chance at going through to the second round, and it was a dejected shape they cut as they left the arena.

The first rounds were pretty simple. Marco watched competitor after competitor take the course, some faster than others, and some just plain awful. “This is an intermediate class,” Armin muttered as a smart looking palomino tripped in the middle of the wall combination and sent his rider sprawling, “so why are there people entering who clearly shouldn’t be here? It’s dangerous!” The fall resulted in an automatic disqualification. They didn’t attempt the combination again.

Marco saw the bad-tempered blonde on the dapple grey get a clear round, though her time was a little on the slow side. She punched her fist in the air after her round and seemed to be letting out a cry of triumph as she galloped her mount out of the arena. “Annie Leonhart,” Armin answered Marco’s silent question. “She’s got nerves of steel and barely talks to anyone. I tried to be friendly once but all I got was a glare.”

Marco grinned. “She sounds charming.”

“Oh, she is. Definitely your type, Marco. You could make lovely grumpy, freckly babies together.” Marco shoved a chip into his friend’s mouth to shut him up.

Two more jumped for Trost Academy that he didn’t recognise after that, both getting decent scores, and then it was the turn of the first Bodt Stables student.

Sasha thundered into the arena like a thing possessed, Jester’s ears pricked forward and his gait snappy as she angled him towards the first jump. Her usually playful face was set in concentration, and Marco could see from her tight grip on the reins that she was holding him back. “Come on Sasha!” Marco heard his mother yell, earning a few glares from the surrounding audience. “You can do it, push him, push him!”

Push him Sasha did. Jester cleared the first two verticals in a heartbeat, and hit the oxers at full canter. Marco thrust a handful of chips in his mouth when Jester’s hoof clipped the Ascending oxer, but the pole stayed in its socket. He heard Eleanor expel her held breath beside him. Jester cleared the wall jump too, but then it was time for the Wall combination. Even from the stands, Marco could see the fear in Sasha’s eyes as she levelled the paint at the jump and urged him forwards, her grip on the reins slackening to give him more room to stretch. “Go on, _go on_ ,” Eleanor urged. Luck was on their side. Jester cleared all three of the combination clean, and Sasha’s relief was clear as she turned him for home. But then she stopped riding. Jester slowed down. The final fence, a vertical, lost a pole as he landed. Marco cursed under his breath. “Don’t worry,” Eleanor said, clutching a hand to her chest, “that might be enough to get her into the second round. We’ll just have to hope that the others screw up enough.”

Marco wished his mother hadn’t tempted fate with those words. Connie was the next of their group to enter the arena, and his round didn’t get off to the best of starts. Pegasus couldn’t have looked more bored if he tried as they cantered steadily into the arena. He jumped the first vertical clumsily, nearly stumbling over the other, and when Connie pushed him on towards the oxers the commentator remarked that Pegasus looked about ready to fall asleep. Marco was ploughing through the chips now.

The wall combination seemed the last straw for the gelding. Pegasus took one look at the three fences and skidded to a halt, thrusting Connie half-out of the saddle. Connie turned him around and tried again, but Pegasus’s second refusal saw Connie taking the jump for him, landing in a heap on the other side. Marco and his mother were on their feet instantly, but Connie sprang up like a rabbit and put a thumbs up and a wobbly grin. Marco relaxed.

“Pegasus is past it,” Eleanor sighed. “He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t love it like he used to.”

“Well I don’t think Connie was egging him on enough,” Hanji said, frowning. “Maybe if we put Pegasus on a diet of rosemary and cabbage leaves…”

“No, Hanji,” was the collective chorus. She whined and sunk back into her seat.

“I think Connie was doing his best,” Marco said, and meant it. “Pegasus just wasn’t responding at all.”

“At least Connie came out unscathed,” Armin said, watching with concern as Connie led Pegasus out of the arena, saluting the crowd cheerfully as he went. “It could have ended badly.”

“I think Connie’s bones are made of rubber with how many falls he’s bounced back from.” His mother’s smile was genuine and full of relief, but there was disappointment too. Still, Mikasa was up next and she was bound to fare far better, Marco reckoned as he sank back into his seat with a sigh.

Mikasa certainly lived up to expectations. She entered the ring at a gentle canter, Raven’s head bobbing eagerly as she got a good look at the fences, and once Mikasa let her go the mare was unstoppable. She took the verticals like they were cross-poles and barely broke stride for the oxers, landing as neatly as a cat on the other side of both. Applause broke out in various places across the stands, Marco and Armin were amongst them, and there were even appreciative gasps as Mikasa and Raven cleared the wall jump without slowing down. It was certainly going to be a fast time, if they kept up their flawless streak. Marco noticed his mother’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her posture taunt. He glanced back to the arena and pleaded silently, _Go on Mikasa, you can do it, do it for us. My mother needs you to do it._

Mikasa shortened the mare’s stride as they turned, and Marco began to feel worried again. The combination was next. Mikasa’s expression was unreadable as she let the reins slip through her fingers slightly to give Raven her head, and the mare responded with a slightly longer stride. Both horse and rider’s attentions were solely on that combination, the one everybody found tricky. Marco felt his insides coil as the strides between them and the combination lessened.

Three strides.

Two strides.

One stride…

Take off.

Raven leapt the fences like her life depended on it, her strides in between quick and snappy to prepare herself for the next obstacle. Mikasa seemed to be sitting as calmly as she could, urging the mare on with her heels and not her voice. Marco’s teeth clenched. _Come on, Mikasa, you can do it. Come on._ Raven soared over the final part of the combination. “Yes!” Eleanor shouted as Mikasa turned the mare for home, the speed on the mare picking up even more so now as they thundered into the last fence. There was no need to worry about that one; Raven could have stepped over it for how little trouble it caused her.

“Clear round, and the quickest round so far!” the announcer cried, and the small group in the stands erupted in fits of whoops, laughter and overenthusiastic hugging. Even Armin was pulled into the group hug that jumped up and down feverishly as Mikasa left the arena with a heavily snorting Raven. Marco’s face ached with how much he was smiling. They were top of the board- _just_. Mikasa’s name and number was directly above Annie Leonhart’s score.

“Annie’s going to be annoyed with that,” Armin said with a grin. He seemed happy with that. “She deserves to be knocked off her pedestal,” he explained when Marco gave him a questioning look.

“Up next, Jean Kirschtein of Trost Riding Academy!” came the call. Marco felt a jolt of recognition in his stomach and glanced at his mother to watch her reaction. She looked ready to break the announcer’s hand.

“ _Kirschtein_ ,” she seethed. “I didn’t know _he_ was competing.”

Marco blinked. “You didn’t? He’s the owner’s son though.”

“Well, I knew Jaques Kirschtein had a son, but he hasn’t competed in years. I thought he’d given up. Taken up football or something.” Eleanor sounded very put out by Jean’s presence. “He was good, Marco. He was as good as you were- don’t you remember?”

Marco frowned. “I don’t think so. It was a while ago… but I think he knows me.”

“How do you know that?”

Marco was saved by the bell- literally. The moment it rang a blur of liver chestnut and dark blue hurtled into the arena amid loud cheers from a collected group at the bottom of the stands. Marco couldn’t help himself; he leaned closer, eyes narrowing in concentration as Jean and his mare jumped the first vertical. They cleared it with inches to spare and moved onto the next, clearing that in next to no time. Jean definitely knew what he was doing; it was as though he was a part of his horse, every move he made being replicated by the delicate Sina beneath him. He was leaning in close to her neck, his arms still against the curve of her wither, and they were over the first oxer before Marco could blink. Another roar from his supporters. They were told to keep quiet by the announcer or they would have to be escorted out. Marco couldn’t blame them- Jean was tearing the course to pieces. It was hypnotic to watch him; Marco wasn’t sure how or why, but Jean seemed to have a technique that glued your eyes to him. It was like poetry in motion. Marco hadn’t seen anyone ride like it, even Mikasa. The Ascending oxer barely twitched as they landed, and the wall was also taken at a furious pace. They were charging towards the combination now, Jeans’ brows furrowed in concentration and Sina’s nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. Marco bit his lip.

“He’s going too fast,” he heard his mother mutter to Hanji. “He won’t get clear if he keeps that pace of his up. His horse won’t last.”

Marco found himself willing Jean on like he had with Mikasa, his stomach squirming nastily again as they hit the first part of the combination at such a lengthy canter Sina’s hind hoof almost knocked a pole on her landing. Jean saw his mistake, and collected her underneath him as she took the second fence. This time she did clip the top of the fence, and there was a moment of tense silence when the pole wobbled. Marco nearly drew blood with how hard he was biting on his lip. He couldn’t see this boy with such talent not qualify for the second round. To his relief, and his mother’s horror, the pole stayed up. Marco wasn’t sure if Jean even knew if his future in the competition had just been dangling by a threat; if he did, Jean didn’t let it bother him. The third jump was executed clean, and his effortless movement got them home without another threat of fault.

“Damn,” Eleanor swore as the group below broke into cheers and bear-like roars. Her face brightened however when she saw that the wall combination had slowed him down, and he hadn’t beaten Mikasa for time. “Well, there’s some saving grace,” she said. Hanji nodded so violently it looked as though her head would fall off.

Marco expelled the breath from his lungs as he watched Jean raise his hand to the crowd, a cocky smirk on his face as he trotted out of the arena. “He’s good, right?” Armin said, smiling.

Marco puffed out a ball of air and settled himself again. “Yeah. He is.” _He’s incredible. I’ve never seen someone ride so well in my life._ “W-why hasn’t he ridden this competition before?”

Armin shrugged. “He only joined this year. I think his father sent him off to some boarding school down south to train.”

“Boarding school?” Marco’s brows drew down. That sounded like a lonely existence, being carted off to some school with no contact with your parents except for a crackly phone call every few weeks. The thought of being away from his own mother was a horrible one, and Marco wondered how Jean could stand it. “How come?”

“Because his dad can afford it,” Armin replied.

“Is that what Jean wants?”

Armin paused. “Why are you so interested?”

“No reason,” Marco said, offering him the last of the chips. Armin took an experimental bite from one and gave Marco a playful smack when he realised they were stone cold. “Who’s up next?” he asked, squinting at the too-small-to-read board.

He needn’t have asked. The din at the starting line was enough to attract his attention, and as his eyes travelled downwards he saw Eren swing his leg over the back of an extremely fidgety horse, teeth clenched as he tried to control the tossing head. Marco’s stomach dropped two places. The horse arched his neck, eyes seeking out the stands and fences, and let out a loud whinny that silenced the amiable chatter. Marco grabbed onto his seat for support as the huge frame fought Erwin’s hands. It was Titan’s turn.

 


	4. Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so going to run out of lines for that song...dangit.  
> Next chapter guys, whoooop. In which Titan puts on a show, Jean's father makes an appearance and the fateful deal is struck. And more of Marco being a dweeb. Yaaaay.
> 
> Commenting keeps me strong, so I'd really appreciate it if you could spare the time to give me one or two :) andfanartalsomakesmyheartsingI'mjustsayin.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Sweetie, are you going to be alright?” his mother asked him, a hand of hers curling on his own white-knuckled one.

Marco gulped, his eyes fixed on the dark gelding waiting impatiently for his name to be called. Titan wasn’t focused at all. He was too busy trying to fight the hands that were restraining him. Erwin’s curse was lost on the air between the stands and the line as he pulled the horse down from an attempted rear, and Titan’s ears laid flat back against his head. Eren, meanwhile, was trying his best to sit the plunges and fidgets, paler than a ghost. “I’ll be fine,” Marco lied.

“We could go to see the others-”

“I need to see this, mum.” Marco was surprised at his own conviction. Why didn’t he leave? He could leave and not watch Eren ride _his_ horse around a course _he_ had wanted to ride once upon a time. It would be less painful, he realised. Maybe he was a secret masochist.

“Marco, maybe it would be best if you did,” Armin said softly. “You’ve gone white as a sheet.”

“No. I need to see this,” Marco repeated.

“Marco-”

“Armin, **_no._** ” His friend recoiled from the harshness of his tone, and Marco sighed apologetically. “Just- just stay here with me,” he said. “You can go and see the others if you want, mum. Go get Mikasa ready for the next round.”

Eleanor looked torn. She looked between the two boys as if she was unsure who to trust. “Armin, promise to keep an eye on him for me?” she asked.

Marco kept his eyes on the fighting form, trying to keep his emotion in check. An eye needed to be kept on him. He was a problem. He needed to be babysat in case he had an ‘episode’. God, he hated how pathetic he’d become. Titan was swinging his haunches out in his attempts to escape Erwin’s grip, his head held high and eyes blazing angrily, and Marco flinched when Eren brought his crop down on Titan’s rump. “That’s not going to help,” he said in a hollow voice.

“Hmm?” Armin hadn’t been paying attention.

“Eren used the crop on him,” Marco replied. “Titan doesn’t like being manhandled- you have to be gentle.”

He tore his gaze away from the horse to look at Armin, and his friend was giving him a look of sympathy that he’d seen far too much. But this was Armin, and if anyone was allowed to give him sympathy, it was him. When Armin cleared his throat, Marco didn’t roll his eyes or push him away. He listened. “Marco, I really don’t think watching this is going to be a good idea,” Armin said. “Whatever happens, you’re not going to be happy about it. Why do you want to watch anyway?”

Marco frowned. “I guess it’s because I want to see if someone else can do what I couldn’t.” And as he glanced back at Titan, he could see the worry in Eren’s eyes. He felt like going down to them, telling Eren it was fine for him to step down and let it lie, but he knew he couldn’t do that. There was a part of him, deep down in his gut that tossed and turned in fitful sleep, that wanted to see what Titan could do. Wanted to see him canter around the course like some sort of great Bucephalus, thunder rolling under his hooves and the crowd captivated by the sheer power he had contained within him. But would they see a Bucephalus, or a half-crazed animal? As the bell rang and Erwin regretfully let go of the reins, Marco realised they would find out in seconds. Every muscle seemed to tighten, his entire body on edge.

This was it.

Now or never.

Titan launched off his back legs from standing into a strong canter, muscle rippling as he fought Eren’s hands. Eren was keeping a firm grip on them however, and seemed to hold him well; Titan was clearly trying to break into a much faster pace, but Eren was winning the battle between them for the moment. The first vertical reached them and Eren curled into Titan’s neck as the gelding left the ground, straightening immediately on impact. Marco’s chest jolted. He’d jumped! He’d gone over! It was a messy jump, granted, but it was clear. His palms were slick with sweat as he watched the second vertical vanish under Titan’s hooves, and then waited for the oxers with baited breath. By now Eren had got Titan where he wanted him, and the gelding had stopped trying to gain his head. Marco could have sworn his horse was _concentrating_ , his ears flicked forward and gait springy as he jumped the first oxer, and on reaching the second he even noticed his jump would be too early and added in an extra stride to make up for it, rocking back on his hind legs and launching himself off the ground like a rocket as Eren clung to him. And then they were turning, Titan’s stride lengthening as they did and his eyes bright and energised. He was enjoying himself. Marco couldn’t help the smile spread on his face, though a distinctly bittersweet feeling washed over him. Titan was alright. He was behaving. More than that, he was _clear_ so far. And as the pair cantered steadily on towards the wall jump, Marco found himself relaxing ever so slightly.

He regretted it immediately.

Titan and Eren had just reached the straight line they had to canter down before the wall jump when a bang went off in the crowd. It sounded like a balloon popping, or a car backfiring in the car park behind them, but it was enough to startle Titan. The giant horse’s beautiful form shattered as fear took over, his entire body bolting away from the noise, and Marco was on his feet immediately, eyes wide and heart pounding.

_No. This couldn’t happen. Make it stop._

Titan was galloping now, his strides getting larger and larger the further he galloped, and no matter how much Eren was pulling on the reins the giant continued his furious and jaunty pace. When Eren gave him a particularly sharp yank Titan gave a violent buck, nearly unseating him in the process. Marco’s stomach plummeted as he saw that Titan was still very much heading for the wall jump. He was on an angle, and at full gallop, but Titan was going to try to jump. “Marco, look!” Armin said, pointing to the corner of the course. Erwin was sprinting towards the pair, mouth set in a fine line, but there was little he could do. No one could do anything. Eren just had to hold on and hope that Titan could make the jump.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Titan was so overcome by fear and adrenaline that his feet didn’t even leave the ground. He barrelled into the jump like he hadn’t seen it coming, the lightweight bricks flying in all directions as the black body collided into them. In the hail of bricks and dust, Eren was thrown clear and was left hugging his knees to his chest. Titan, however, had fallen to his knees, and sank to the ground with a squeal of pain, his momentum carrying him over onto his back.

“TITAN!” Marco roared.

Armin tried to grab him, tried to get him to stay where he was, but Marco wrenched himself free and hurried down the steps of the stands, heart threatening to burst out of his chest as he pushed aside anyone who was in his way. The hard body of a showground steward stopped him in his tracks. “Let me get through!” Marco protested, giving the body a push.

“I’m sorry, but no member of the crowd can step foot on course soil,” came the reply.

Marco tried to shove past him, but try as he might, he couldn’t do it. The steward was too strong. “Please, please, that’s my horse out there,” he begged, but the man stood firm and silent. The man also did a fine job of blocking his vision, and though Marco could see Erwin sprinting towards Titan and Eren he couldn’t see what he was doing once he got there.

And then he heard the squeal of a horse who did not want to be touched, a bone-splintering _crack_ and a horrified gasp from those in the crowd who could see what had happened.

“NO!” Marco cried, using the last ounce of strength left in him to shove the steward away and tear forwards. Once he could see again, he stopped dead, eyes snapping wider.

Eren was on his feet, but Erwin was on his side and clutching his left leg, pain whitening his face and setting his teeth. Titan had scrambled to his feet and was bolting to the other end of the course, his reins snapped and whipping his neck and shoulders into a lather. Marco should have been relieved to see that Titan was okay, but then he paid more attention. Titan looked wild and angry, and when he reached the fence on the other side of the course he reared, forelegs swiping the air in frustration as he realised he was trapped.

Marco’s leg felt like it was about to rip loose every muscle in it as he ducked under the rail and sprinted towards his horse, but he didn’t care.

He had to get to him.

He had to.

“Titan!” he called again as he almost reached the middle of the arena. “Titan, _stop!”_  To his surprise Titan slid to a halt, his ears swivelling to find the source of the noise. Then his eyes locked on Marco. He pivoted around on his hind legs and charged, head down like a Spanish bull.

“Marco, get out of the way!” he heard Erwin yell, but he was paralysed. All he could do was watch as the ground between Titan and him lessened with every heaving stride of the panicked horse. He felt like a deer in the light of an oncoming truck, and even though every part of him was screaming at him to move, to follow Erwin’s order, something held him back. A stupid thought nestled itself in the back of his mind as Titan got closer and closer- _he won’t hit me._ He then remembered something Hanji had taught him long ago; he regained the use of his arms and began to shakily waving them around. Hanji had told him it would make him look bigger, and it would turn any bolting horse. Whether it was true or not was something else entirely. He was worried that he was trusting _Hanji’s_ judgement, and made a brief mental note to come back and haunt her if it didn’t work.

Titan was strides away, so close Marco could hear his laboured breath, and still he stood his ground, waving his arms like a madman. “STOP!” he bellowed. “ENOUGH!”

Titan’s ears flicked forwards. In a terrifyingly slow moment, the gelding seemed to sit back on his haunches and skidded to a halt, rising onto his hind legs to avoid Marco. Marco was on his back before he realised he was looking up at flailing hooves. He scrambled backwards, his muscles kicking into gear again as Titan let a neigh loose. The legs swiped the air where Marco would have been stood moments before, and it was all Marco could see. Titan landed in a tangle of bridle leather and legs, snorting in alarm, and Marco stared up at him wordlessly.

Titan had stopped.

He didn’t have to haunt Hanji.

The giant horse stared down at him, sides heaving and flecked with sweat and blood from where the reins had cut into his sensitive flesh, and Marco saw a softness to the animal’s eye he’d not noticed before.

He had little time to celebrate. The moment Titan quietened a fist came out of nowhere and closed around his reins, causing his head to jerk up in surprise. It was the sour-faced little man Marco had seen in the arena. The trainer of Trost Riding Academy- Levi. Titan tried to rear again to avoid the man’s grasp, but Levi held firm. “Got you,” the familiar voice drawled. “Damn brat of a horse.” His nostrils pinched together as Titan tossed his head, still trying to rid himself of this new tether, and then the set of cold grey eyes swept to Marco’s prone form. “What the fuck did you think you were doing, running out of the crowd like that? You could have been _killed_ , you idiot.”

Marco blanched, the full possibility of his actions sinking in. He _could_ have been killed. Titan could have trampled him, crushed him, anything… he suddenly felt very weak.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Levi,” another voice came. “He just escaped being people jam.” Marco blinked as Jean entered his vision, eyes as large as dinner plates. He looked terrified, despite his playful remark. Marco shrank away from his gaze, fingers knotting in the grass beneath him. He already felt enough of an idiot as it was; having Jean Kirschtein, showjumper extraordinaire, here to judge him made it ten times worse.

“N-no, he’s right, it was stupid,” Marco mumbled, sitting up with a grunt of effort. His back was killing him.

“Well, yeah it was,” Jean considered, eyes still wide. “Pretty damn brave though.” He offered a hand to Marco, the fingers wiggling invitingly. Marco stared at them blankly. Jean chuckled. “What? They don’t have suckers.”

Marco blushed and took it. Jean’s hands weren’t calloused with work like his were, but they weren’t exactly soft, either; it came with wearing riding gloves for the best of ten years. “Th-thanks,” he said as Jean pulled him up, the wiry frame remarkably strong despite appearances. “B-but… I’m really not brave…”

“You’re right, you’re a first class idiot,” Levi snarled.

Marco let Jean’s hand drop and gulped. “I just… I didn’t want Titan to hurt himself,” he said softly.

“Hurt himself?” Levi snorted. “He did a pretty good job of annihilating your instructor’s kneecap and narrowly avoided landing on his rider. This black demon’s the last thing you should be worrying about.”

Jean’s lip curled. “You’re not helping, Levi.”

Marco’s eyes snapped wider. All thoughts of Titan vanished. “E-Erwin? Oh God, where is he?”

Levi put his free hand to Marco’s chest, holding him in place. “I wouldn’t bother. The stewards have taken care of it, an ambulance is on the way.”

“A-ambulance?!”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Of course a fucking ambulance, he did get a direct kick from this imbecile right here.” He jabbed his thumb at Titan, but the monstrous fire-and-brimstone figure was gone, replaced by a docile creature that watched the three humans standing by his head. It was as though nothing had happened. “You’ll do better to leave him be.”

Levi’s icy calm was maddening. Marco wanted to see Erwin, wanted to apologise over and over for not convincing his mother out of it, for not kicking up enough of a fuss and demanding that Eren go nowhere near Titan. It would have been out of character, and would have made a lot of the over-16s resent him, but if it had stopped what had gone on here Marco would have done it. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, the gravity of the situation hitting him full in the chest. “A-and Eren?” he asked.

“Who? Oh! The pipsqueak riding him?” Jean asked, eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, yes! Is he alright?”

Jean shrugged. “Seems to be. He managed to roll clear, and got up pretty quick. Though I dunno how alive he is now, seeing as that girl with the black hair looked ready to kill him.”

Marco grimaced. “Yeah, Mikasa’s probably ready to strangle him with concern.”

“Is she always so… intense?” Jean asked, a small grin weaving its way onto his face. Marco didn’t understand how he could be so laidback. Titan had caused a serious accident, and could have done far worse, and Jean just seemed so… calm. Was he used to things like this happening? Marco’s heart was still racing at a hundred miles a second, his muscles still tense and ready to run- but Jean was back to smiling. Marco’s confusion was clearly obvious, for Jean gave an awkward cough. “Er, I don’t want you to put in a good word, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he muttered. “If she’s your girlfriend, then…”

“Oh, n-no, I didn’t think that at all! And- no! No, s-she’s not my girlfriend, _God_!” Marco said hotly, his cheeks beginning to burn again. “Why does everyone think she’s my girlfriend?!” he asked aloud.

Jean chuckled. “Maybe it’s cus you’re in her league.”

Marco stared wide-eyed at him. His stomach churned, but not in a sickening way- in a _nice_ way. He’d been complimented on his riding before, more times than he could count, but never on… well, on anything else. “Uh…” was all he could get out.

“Ugh, when you have quite finished, Kirschtein,” Levi said, turning his head towards an onslaught of noise. “I think we’re about to get bombarded.”

“Eh?” Jean followed Levi’s eyes and cringed. “Eesh, she looks pissed.”

Marco didn’t even have to look round. He could guess. And sure enough-

“Get your hands off our horse!”

Marco sighed. “Mum…” Eleanor looked so furious she could strike a spark with her heel as she marched towards them, a worried looking Armin in tow. She wasted no time in seizing Marco by the arm and giving him a harsh smack over the head. “Ow, mum!” he complained, pain blossoming in his temple.

“You could have died, you stupid boy!” she hissed, her hand on his arm tightening to an almost vice-like strength. “If you’d have been trampled I don’t know what I’d do! Oh, you stupid, stupid, stupid-” she continued, hitting him with every ‘stupid’ that tumbled out of her mouth. Marco started flinching with every movement she made, and saw Jean smirking out of the corner of his eye. “-stupid, stupid boy! And _you_ ,” she said, stabbing an accusatory finger at Levi, “I told you once, get your hands off our horse before I cut them off!”

Levi arched a brow. “Seeing as your son is so incapable, I thought it best that I step in before your animal did more damage. Tell me, how is your instructor coping?” Eleanor’s cheeks began to rival Marco’s for redness.  She snatched Titan’s reins from Levi’s hands and stormed off without another word, Titan following behind jauntily. Marco wanted to shoot a glare at the shorter man- _no one_ messed with his mother- but decided against it. Levi looked ready to bite someone’s head off. “Tch, second-rate owners will insist on bringing unworthy horses into competitions,” he muttered, turning on his heel and striding away in the opposite direction.

“Ignore him,” Armin said as he saw Marco’s face fall, “he’s just in a bad mood.” Marco watched the trainer’s exit with a mixture of hurt and anger brewing within. Levi had an abnormally large chip on his shoulder, and Marco wanted to demand why on earth they had got the receiving end of his anger. “We know you’re not second-rate owners, and that’s all that matters.” Armin’s look then soured. “However, I have to agree with your mum. That was a stupid thing to do.”

“Heyy, don’t be so cruel,” Jean interjected, folding his arms. “Marco did what he thought was right.”

Armin turned on Jean then, and Marco found it sort of amusing to see the taller boy recoil slightly. “That’s easy for you to say! If Titan hadn’t stopped-”

“But he did,” Jean pointed out.

“That’s not the point!”

Marco sighed and began to walk to the exit, his mind on Erwin and Eren and screaming horses. But his body had other ideas. “Ngh! Damnit!” he seethed as a hot flash of pain shot through his leg. He would have crumpled to the floor if it weren’t for Armin; the blonde shot into his line of sight with a cry of alarm, and soon had him supported with some difficulty. Marco gave him a weak smile of thanks, the majority of him overwhelmed with the aftermath of the pain. “I don’t think I’ve ran like that for a while,” he joked.

“You should be careful!” Armin chided.

“I know, I know…” Marco said, his eyes suddenly meeting Jean’s.

The other boy looked just as alarmed as Armin had, and was now giving him a small frown of concern. Marco’s stomach squirmed again. “You alright?” he asked. “Did he nick you?”

“Huh? Oh, Titan, no… no, I’m all good.” Marco tried a proper smile, but his leg decided to give another shot of pain that made him lose what little colour he had left. “Just an old injury playing up, heh.”

Jean’s frown didn’t leave his face, nor did the look of concern. Marco focused on walking, the pain still very much there but less so now. It was like an echo of the original pain, a memory that kept him wincing and limping onwards like a cripple. He guessed that was probably what he was. He hated the fact that he was like this in front of Jean, the boy he’d wanted to give such a good impression to. He expected Jean to leave them, to find his own friends and get as far away from Marco-the-problem as was humanly possible, but he didn’t. He stayed with them both, silent and staring at his boots as they walked, but he stayed. Marco snatched occasional glances at him as they walked, and saw that his brows drew together when he thought. His eyes seemed to get a shade darker, too.

It took them an age to reach the Bodt Stables spot. The horses were all tethered by the trailer or around them, forgotten for the moment in the excitement, but Marco’s attention was immediately diverted to the flashing lights of an ambulance. It had parked right next to their old trailer, and though its rear doors were open it seemed that everyone was crammed into every possible space to take a look at Erwin. “Go see him,” Jean urged. “He’s fine, honestly. I’ll wait here.”

Marco gulped. “A-Armin, help me get over there,” he said.

“Marco…”

“Please.”

Armin didn’t argue. He cleared his throat softly as they neared the group to get the crowd to part, and when they saw Marco they did so immediately, the wide-eyed stares and sympathy back in their faces. Marco sighed. He was never going to escape that. Still, it wasn’t him he was worrying about now. Erwin was led on a stretcher, his left leg bound up in a makeshift brace of some sort. Though his face was ashen and gaunt with the pain, Erwin was in better spirits than Marco had anticipated. He was laughing at something Hanji had just said, and when he caught sight of Marco his smile remained. “Hey, there you are. I thought they would have to save a space in this thing for you,” he greeted brightly.

“Erwin, I…” Marco’s words failed him.

The older man’s smile grew softer. “Marco…”

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could think of to say. Out of all the words spinning around his head, he chose the two simplest ones. His voice broke as he said them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Marco, it’s alright.”

“It’s not.”

“Accidents happen. It’s an occupational hazard.” Erwin winced as he moved in the wrong way. “You know that too. It was nothing to do with you- sometimes horses just lose their heads.”

“Not all horses lose their heads like that though, do they?”

The collected group turned their heads to look upon the speaker. He was stood a little further away than they were, inspecting Jester with a look of utter contempt. He wasn’t dressed in typical riding gear, but all that he was wearing looked expensive; the money for his raincoat alone was likely to have fed all of the horses at the stables for a day. He had a tapering jawline, piercing eyes under heavy brows and a permanent sneer on his face. For a moment, Marco thought they had stumbled upon a tall relation of Levi’s. Then he recognised the ashen blonde hair. They were looking at none other than Jacques Kirschtein, the owner of Trost Riding Academy and Jean’s father. Jean himself had vanished.

Jacques Kirschtein turned his heavily lidded eyes onto Marco, his lip twitching in distaste as he looked him up and down. “You must be the Bodt boy. Shame about that accident of yours. Most unfortunate. Still, survival of the fittest wins out, doesn’t it?”

Marco didn’t get angry very often. Well, scratch that, he did, but he never showed it. He would keep it contained inside him like a bitter little ball and release it when he was on his own with no one to get hurt by it. But now he felt it raise its ugly head like a dragon awakening from a slumber, and he had to bite back the scalding reply that tried to reach the surface. “Titan was spooked. He was scared,” he replied coldly.

“Of course,” Mr. Kirschtein nodded mockingly, “it’s never the horse’s fault- always some other reason. It’s a mind like that that stops you beating us in the competitions, Bodt.”

“What do you want?” Marco asked, trying his best to remain polite even though he really wanted to defend his corner to the death. He doubted Mr Kirschtein would listen to him even if he did.

A smile quirked at the man’s mouth. “Direct. Excellent. I’ll do the same.” He walked towards Marco, his stride deliberate and gliding. Jean had his father’s walk. Marco unconsciously stepped away from Armin, squaring his shoulders and letting a glare fall onto his face. “That horse of yours is dangerous in the wrong hands, boy. He has good blood that is entirely wasted in this little stables of yours. However, he does have potential. I’m here to give him that potential.”

Marco’s glare increased. “He’s not for sale,” he said firmly.

Mr Kirschtein looked surprised. “And you are the last word in this, are you?”

“He’s my horse,” Marco answered shortly.

“A horse you allowed someone else to ride in your stead because you can’t bring yourself to look at him?” The smile he gave Marco was a nasty one. “He definitely sounds like your horse.”

“Oh, _now_ what?!” Marco gave an internal sigh of relief as he heard his mother’s voice. She was leading Titan, her hair falling out of her ponytail and her clothes so obviously old Marco cringed in front of such an illustrious looking rival. What he did find odd however was that Jean was walking on the other side of Titan, and looked as though he’d just been cut off in an important conversation. Both Eleanor and Jean stopped dead at the sight of Mr Kirschtein. Jean looked awkward, a little scared even- but Eleanor looked nigh-on murderous. “What do you want, Kirschtein?” she hissed, thrusting Titan’s reins into Jean’s fumbling hands and storming up to him, eyes narrowed and lip curled. She stood in front of Marco, motherly instinct taking over as she gently nudged him behind her, and Marco obliged willingly. He didn’t want to be near Mr Kirschtein for any longer than was necessary.

Mr Kirschtein gave a thin smile. “Ah, Eleanor, such a pleasure to see you again. Tell me, are your feed stores doing alright, or did you have to sell the family silver again?” 

“If you think I won’t hit you because I’m a woman, you’re sorely mistaken.” She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him, and for a moment even Marco was unnerved by her. He’d never seen her hit anyone, but he was sure she could if the mood took her. “If you’re here to gloat, or to harass my son-”

“Not at all. I was here to offer my condolences to the loss of your instructor. With that injury, he won’t be able to teach, will he? Such a shame, too: your group was beginning to catch us up.”

Eleanor’s strong mask slipped. Marco cursed himself. How could he have been so blind? Erwin was the strongest member of the team at the stables. Without Erwin to teach the lessons, Hanji would have to do twice the work or they would have to hire a temporary teacher in his place. Both options cost money, and it was money they didn’t have. “We’ll make do. We always have,” she said. Only Marco could tell that this was her uncertain voice, and that made him nervous.

“I wonder how long ‘making do’ will work, Mrs. Bodt? You seem to be running on borrowed time as it is.” Mr Kirschtein paused. “However, if you happen to want to sell a particular horse of yours, I’m sure I could help you out…”

“Titan belongs to my son. If he says he is not for sale, then he isn’t.” Eleanor looked over her shoulder. “Marco?”

He shook his head. “Titan’s home is here, with me.”

He had a feeling that he’d given the right answer, despite the fact he and his mother both knew it was probably the best thing to do given the circumstances. Her smile was enough. “See?” she said, turning back to Kirschtein, “he says no. He means no.”

“Pity,” Mr. Kirschtein tutted, “I’d like to see your stables work with just one instructor.”

Marco was just as surprised as Mr. Kirschtein was when she replied coolly, “Actually, I’ve just had a teaching offer for the summer of Erwin Smith’s recuperation period.”

“Oh?” Kirschtein smirked. “And who would that be?”

“That would be me.” All eyes turned to the boy holding Titan’s reins. Jean stood tall, jaw set and fists clenched, and only Marco noticed how they were shaking ever so slightly.

“ ** _You?!_** ” Kirschtein stared furiously at his son. “How could _you_ teach? You’ve never taught a damn thing in your life!”

Jean folded his arms, staring just as unwaveringly at his father. “I was trained by the best. I can teach it in just the same way as I was taught it. Besides, it’s the least I could do. They’ve lost their instructor. We still have Levi.” He shrugged. “If you want to keep enjoying a victory over them they’ve got to be _good_ , right? Or else there’s no point.”

Kirschtein was stunned. “Jean- I forbid it,” he snarled.

Marco glanced at Jean, swallowing painfully. The voice was enough to send a chill through his bones and jar him into doing exactly as it said, but Jean’s reaction was incredible. He laughed. Actually laughed. It was a harsh, barking noise, obviously artificial but he was still _laughing at his very angry father._ “You forbid it, do you?” he asked. He sounded genuinely amused.

“Yes, I do!” Kirschtein snapped, his own surprise coming out as blind anger.

Jean smirked. “Well then, consider my bags packed.”

Jean’s father began to turn a very interesting shade of purple. “How _dare_ you defy me,” he hissed, taking a step towards him that looked more like a lunge. Jean’s smirk vanished, as did most of the colour in his face.

Marco didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly he was in front of Jean, his eyes narrowed as he glared up at the face of fury. His leg ached angrily, but it hardly mattered. “Isn’t Annie in the second round? You should see to her now, sir,” he said, and marvelled at how calm he sounded.

“That’s right,” Eleanor added, “I’m sure she’s looking for you, Jacques. Go ahead. Jean will be with you in just a little while.”

Marco had the funniest feeling that if his mother hadn’t have been there, Mr. Kirschtein would have hit him. He certainly looked like he wanted to, his eyes that weren’t quite as orange as Jean’s burning a hole in Marco’s shirt. But to his relief, he backed away. “That’s true. Best of luck to your little champion.” He shot a glare at Jean. “I’ll discuss this with you later.” With that, he swept away, back in the direction of the arena.

Marco remembered to breathe again, and brought a hand to his head. Since when had he become so brave? That had been out of line, really out of line, it was none of his business what went on between the Kirschtein family…

“Hey, bodyguard. You can stop blocking me now,” Jean said dryly from behind him.

Marco stepped away as though he’d been electrocuted. “I’m s-sorry, that was really rude of me! I didn’t mean to get in the way, I just-”

“Woah, woah, it’s alright!” Jean said, holding up a hand as he chuckled. “I’m kind of grateful, if I’m honest. My dad can be a bit of a tyrant at times.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“Mum,” Marco rolled his eyes. “Be nice.”

“I’d be nice if _he’d_ been nice,” she retorted, jabbing a thumb at the quickly vanishing figure, “but we all know that isn’t going to happen.” Marco gave up. She could be hopeless at times. “Now, Jean, did you really mean it, about helping us out in the summer?” she asked the boy.

Jean lost his bravado as he was addressed. He seemed to revert to an awkward teenager when confronted with the whirlwind that was Eleanor, and it made Marco smile a little. He looked down at the reins in his hand, concentrating on them as he replied, “I could try, if you want. But my father’s right, I’ve not got any experience with it…”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Eleanor smiled, “and besides, we might as well give it a try, right? We haven’t got any other ideas. Of course, you’ll have to stay at ours, it’s way too far to ask you to drive out to us every day and every night- oh and do you want to bring your horse too? We could get a stable ready…”

Everything was going so fast. Marco’s mind was whirling with it all, as if he’d been thrust into a washing machine and put on a spin cycle. He hadn’t even known this boy this morning, and now he was going to be living with them? Was that such a good idea? It was well enough the others being about, but they had a time to leave, a time to go home to their own families. Wouldn’t Jean want to be with his? And what would happen if he spent all of his time with him? Would Jean get bored? Realise that he’d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to help a struggling stables?

Jean looked just as taken aback as Marco did. “Er…” he began.

“We can sort all this out later, I know, you need to get back into the ring, but come and find us afterwards, okay?” Eleanor said, cutting him off before he could do or say anything to take back his offer.

Jean opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it and smirked. Marco liked the way he smiled, as though he had a private joke he wanted to share with the world, but wasn’t sure they’d like it. “Sure, Mrs. Bodt. I’ll come find you.”

Eleanor seemed satisfied with that. As she vanished to fuss over Erwin and prise Mikasa away from a totally fine Eren, Marco turned to Jean. “Thanks. You don’t have to help us, I know it’ll make your father mad…”

“You kidding? I’ve wanted the excuse to piss him off for days. I need to get out of the house.” Jean suddenly looked alarmed. “Y-you don’t mind, do you? I mean, you’ve only just met me.”

“I was sort of… thinking the same thing,” Marco laughed, “but once mum’s got an idea in her head…”

“Mmm.”

“B-but I’m fine with it!” Marco recovered. “You can stay, it’s not a problem! It’ll be nice to have someone else around for a change.” Okay, so he was lying a little bit; the idea of having someone new around was a little scary, but he had to grow up and get his act together one day, and this was the perfect opportunity. Besides, Jean seemed nice.

Jean grinned, and Marco immediately felt better. “Thanks. Here,” he said, holding out the reins. The reins that had a half-napping Titan on the other end. Marco gulped as he stared at them. He felt more than saw Jean’s frown. “They’re not gonna bite you.”

“I know, it’s just…” Marco sighed and reached out for them, his fingers beginning to shake.

“Marco!” He let out a puff of relief. Saved. Hanji bounded up and snatched the reins out of Jean’s hands. “I’ll take him. Naughty boy needs to be loaded into the trailer! He’s on the first ferry back, in disgrace!” She tapped the snoozing Titan on the nose. “Naughty naughty!” The horse jerked his head away from the torment, ears flicking back as he did what Marco could only describe as a glare of utter contempt at Hanji for disturbing him, but Hanji was having none of it. “Uh-uh, come on you bad boy, let the boys talk!” she trilled, giving him a swift pat. Titan grumbled and followed her, but not without glancing at Marco. He tried his best to ignore it.

Jean watched them go, and then turned his attention back to Marco, his eyes questioning. The familiar nerves returned. He’d seen him trembling. He was going to ask, Marco just knew it. And, sure enough… “Marco?”

“Hmm?” Marco braced himself. Here it came.

“…nothing.” Jean rubbed the back of his neck after bottling out of whatever he was planning on saying, and Marco stared at him dumbly. “I better- I better go get ready for the second round. Wish Mikasa good luck, yeah?”

Marco blinked. “Oh, uh, sure.”

Jean let a smile cross his face. “’Kay. I’ll be seeing you, Freckled Wonder.” He patted Marco softly on the shoulder and then left, his thin frame easily swept up by the swelling crowd that were making their way back to the stands.

Mikasa didn’t place in the second round. She was distracted, worrying for Eren, and gained four faults. Jean placed second. No one knew who won. Marco wasn’t as annoyed as he should have been. Because as he sat listening to the play by play version of events from his mother on the drive home, the only thing he could think of was that he now had a nickname, and how the boy who had given it to him was going to be staying with them for the summer.

 


	5. You'll Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updaaate, whoop. I think Sunday is going to be my day of updating- late Sunday, but Sunday nonetheless! 
> 
> In which Jean arrives, there is a sickly sweet scene between a little girl and a shetland pony, and more of Marco's anxiety getting the better of him. Babies. I got serious diabetes writing some of this. 
> 
> There may be an update before Sunday if I carry on the way I'm going, but I'm not promising anything... for now, enjoy! And don't forget to comment, I really do love hearing feedback from you all! :) x

A week later saw Marco taking a well-deserved rest at his kitchen table, having been worked to the bone over the course of the last seven days. The space Erwin left at the stables was a heavy one, and one that permeated through every soul that passed through. Hanji was less bright, the students were a little subdued, and there seemed to be twice as much work to do than before. Everyone turned their looks of irritation and annoyance onto Titan, who stood innocently in his stall taking all the glares and mutters in his stride. Marco sighed. Sometimes he wished he was a horse, with little consciousness of the world around him. There was one way that Titan changed, however; he had started calling for Marco at every opportunity, and it had become part of Marco’s daily routine to block it out and continue his duties. Titan still struck fear into his body, a fear that he had no desire to combat. If anything, it had gotten worse. After his bout of courage at the showgrounds, he had realised how dangerous it had been to throw himself at a galloping horse. His anxiety returned with a vengeance, and he took to avoiding that part of the stables entirely, if only to stop that neigh that dug like a hook against his insides and set everything to ice.

He couldn’t deal with that right now.

He just couldn’t.

At least he had something to keep himself busy for, and that was Jean’s arrival. His mother was practically dancing with joy about it, to Marco’s utter confusion. If Jean was regretting his offer, he had no chance of getting out of it now. She had already ordered one of the disused stables to be swept clear and bedded down for Sina’s arrival, despite Jean’s previous protests that the mare didn’t need to come, and was busy getting the house in order for an impending lodger. She had cleared out the majority of what doubled as a spare room and a study on the upper floor of their house, and had unceremoniously dumped mountains of papers in the hallway for days. This led to many occasions where Marco had nearly gone flying down the stairs, and after the fourth near-death experience she moved them into the bins. The spare room barely looked recognisable once she’d finished with it.

Marco looked up as she bustled in with a basket full of laundry, and couldn’t help but laugh at the way her head appeared behind it. “You’re acting as though we have the queen coming to stay,” he remarked.

“I can’t help it! I don’t know how he lives, Marco,” she chided her son, thrusting handfuls of washing into the machine as she spoke. “He probably has a mansion with servants and butlers and valets-”

“Valets?” Marco laughed again. “Oh God. Mum, I have a feeling you’re overreacting.”

“He’s the son of a Kirschtein, sweetie, I’m definitely not overreacting.”

“I’m pretty sure he won’t care,” Marco said, turning back to the tea he had clasped in his hands.

“Oh?” The washing stopped being loaded for a moment. “And how do you know this?”

Marco shrugged. “I don’t. I guess I just have a hunch.”

Eleanor made a ‘hmm’ of assent and continued with her work. “He’s a nice boy, I’ll give you that. He refused to take any money, you know?”

Marco glanced up again. He hadn’t known that. “How come?” he asked.

She just smiled. “He said he didn’t want any. Said he’d work for room and board, and that was it. He told me to consider it a favour. Such a _nice_ young man, and so polite too. Definitely doesn’t take after his father.”

Marco smiled, and took a sip of his tea thoughtfully. Jean’s refusal for any money was a surprise; instructors were well paid if they were qualified, and even if Jean wasn’t, Marco knew his mother was likely to give him the same wage as Hanji anyway if he did a good enough job. This boy was getting more and more intriguing by the minute. “Is he definitely bringing Sina with him?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I thought we could put her next to Champ for now, and then once she’s all settled in we can think about maybe moving her to where the other larger horses are. Sound good?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh, and there is one thing: Jean says he’ll go home on Sundays, because he needs to train with Levi. I think that’s fair enough, even if the little pipsqueak is ghastly.”

“Mum, don’t be cruel,” Marco said, but couldn’t help chuckling as he took another sip. The thought of a fight between his mother and Levi came into his head, and the question of who would win really was a challenging thought. His mother had a pretty good chance. “That’s fine though, Sundays are always quiet anyway. Can Hanji pick up some of the lessons?”

Eleanor nodded. “Either that or I can lend a hand. It’s all coming together, sweetie,” she said, ruffling his hair amid his protests as she passed him.

His mother’s enthusiasm was contagious, it seemed, and in the days leading up to Jean’s arrival Marco was in much better spirits. He went about his work with a whistle, and had more smiles for the younger children that he had for a while.

“You’re smiley today, Marco!” one of the little girls said as he adjusted her stirrups for the walk out.

“Well, maybe I feel like smiling today, Hannah,” he said. It was the day Jean was meant to arrive, and he was beginning to realise how much he was looking forward to it. There was no fear to be found in his system- for once. He stepped back from the little girl, assessing the stirrup lengths, and once he was satisfied he went back to lifting the saddle flap to make sure the girth was fastened tightly enough. Bubble and Squeak, the resident Shetland ponies, had a habit of blowing out their stomachs to avoid the tightness of the girth. Bubble, Hannah’s mount for the day, was the worst culprit. The little grey mare watched Marco with disdain, and Marco had to laugh. “Now, now, behave Bubble. Hannah doesn’t want to go falling off now, does she?”

“Nope!” Hannah agreed. She paused then, her small face scrunching up as she tried to think. “Are you happy, Marco?”

Marco blinked, wrong-footed by the question. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“People smile when they’re happy. You’re even more smiley today, so you must be even more happy!”

Marco chuckled. “I guess so. Are you ready to go? You’re in front today.”

“Yay!”

Hannah was the chatty sort, the sort Marco liked. She may have only been six years old, but the little girl had a far busier life than he did. Every week she informed him what had been going on at school, what subjects she’d had to do and how her homework was annoying and boys were annoying and her parents were annoying, and Marco would listen with amusement. It made him smile how children always thought the world was ending if they didn’t get their favourite flavour of ice cream, or if it rained on Saturdays. He wondered how children could even _have_ bad days. This day was no exception, with Hannah wittering on about how she had a school project to do on castles and that her name had been written on the board because she’d been talking too much.

As they walked along the well-trodden path, Bubbles would nudge Marco’s side with her nose for attention, and he would give her a small pat every now and again to coax her forwards. He towered over the little pony, but she still insisted on bossing him about as if she was ten foot tall- such was the temperament of Shetlands. Marco’s stride as so long that Bubbles would often have to half-trot to keep up, and Hannah would always laugh as she bounced along in the saddle. “Hold on!” Marco warned, and she clung to the front of the saddle with such a determined expression on her little face it made him laugh.

The little group wasn’t out for long- the walk outs usually lasted about half an hour- so by the time they got back the sun was high in the sky. “Did you have fun?” Marco asked as they walked into the yard.

“Yeah!” Hannah beamed up at him. “You’re fun, Marco!”

He chuckled. “Thank you, you say that every week.”

“It’s true!” Hannah then frowned at something and pointed. “Marco, what’s the trailer for?”

Marco followed her pointing finger and saw a pristine navy blue trailer parked next to the ménage. And, poking her delicate head out curiously, was the unmistakable face of Sina. His stomach squirmed strangely. The engine of the car pulling it stopped purring as the walk out group filed into the small yard, clearly not having been there long, and Marco tried his best to ignore it. “She’s a pretty horse,” Hannah said as Marco tied Bubbles up.

“Y-yeah, she is. Feet out of the stirrups,” he instructed, his stomach refusing to cease its squirming.

“Is she new?” Hannah asked, doing as he said.

“Sort of. Ready to dismount? You need any help?”

“No, I can do it!” And with a sprightly leap she was on the ground, running up the stirrups on her side whilst Marco did the same for the other.

He had to keep preoccupied, otherwise he’d just stand gawping like an idiot, and that was never good. He tried to ignore the sound of a car door opening, the slamming of it seconds later, or the sound of footsteps. He focused on Hannah, because she was important. He cleared his throat as she made to run off to her waiting mother. “Ahem, have we forgotten something?” he asked.

Hannah rolled her eyes and ran back, flinging her arms around Bubbles’ neck and nuzzling her face into the soft fur. “Thank you for the ride, Bubbles!” she said, giving the pony a big kiss.

Marco smiled. “Much better. You’ve always got to remember to thank your pony for taking care of you!”

“I’ll remember! Thank you, Marco! Byee!” Hannah waved manically before she ran back to her mother, and Marco stood watching her with a warm feeling settling in his chest.

“Aww, you’re giving me diabetes here, Freckles.”

The warm feeling vanished as Marco spun around to come face to face with Jean Kirschtein, a blush springing to his face. Jean was giving him that half-smile. Out of riding gear, Jean looked like the last person to set foot in a riding stables. His ash blonde hair that Marco had seen peeking from under a riding hat was now flyaway and untidy, but there was a far darker shadow of hair that curled around the base of his neck. With how untidy the top of his hair looked, it was no wonder that an undercut was the only way to go. He also had a silver piercing in one ear that kept catching the light. Along with the flannel shirt rolled to the elbow and slightly distressed looking jeans, Jean really didn’t look like an equestrian in any sense of the word. Marco then realised he’d taken just a little too long to respond. “O-oh, hey!” he said, a little too loudly for it to be normal.

He inwardly face-palmed. _You twat. You utter, utter twat._

Jean laughed at his enthusiasm, and Marco blushed even more. Damnit biology. “Hey to you too. How you been keeping?”

Marco nodded. Good, keep it to the matter at hand. Keep it about the job. “Good, yeah. Busy. Because summer’s coming, there’s a lot of kids starting up, especially little kids. So there are lots of walk outs and beginner’s lessons,” he replied. “What about you?”

Jean grimaced. “It’s been a bit crap lately, I gotta admit…”

Marco frowned. “How come?” Jean didn’t seem to want to elaborate on that one, so Marco respected that. He took a step back. In fact, he turned around and started to undo Bubbles’ girth. “Well, I hope you’re ready to be bombarded,” he said, “because mum’s just about ready to explode. She’s not stopped cleaning since she knew you were coming to stay.”

Jean chuckled at that. It was a dry noise, crisp on the air. “Aw no, really?”

“Really.”

“Whoops. Mums cleaning are the worst.”

“Tell me about it.” Marco wrapped the girth over the top of the saddle and eased it off Bubbles’ broad back, placing it along his arm with care. He turned to face Jean again, and noticed that his smile that evened itself out. “What?” he questioned.

Jean shook his head, the smile still there. Marco’s stomach flipflopped in a strange way. “Nothing. Who’s this?” he motioned to Bubbles, who was now snuffling at Marco’s pockets for treats.

“Bubbles. She’s used for beginner’s lessons and walk outs,” Marco said, taking a step back. The pony’s nose followed him. “Oi, no! I don’t have anything today!”

Jean chuckled. “She’s cute.”

“She’s a pig with hair.”

“Aww, that’s mean.” He reached out to scratch her on the shoulder, the smile still on his face. “I thought Shetlands are meant to be the spawn of Satan.”

“Devils come in all shapes and sizes, don’t let her innocence fool you.” Their eyes met, and Marco let his smile become more genuine. Jean was easy to talk to, he realised, far more easy than the others. He just made Marco comfortable somehow, and he didn’t know how he did it. Maybe it was the same talent that was making Bubbles nuzzle him with her small ears forward. “How weird, she doesn’t tend to like strangers that are bigger than her,” Marco commented, watching as the little mare butted Jean in the hip playfully.

“Clearly I’m no threat.” Jean’s eyes met his again. He’d forgotten just how bright they were. “So, how are doing this? Sina first, or my bags?”

“Um, I dunno… mum probably has an idea.”

“Ah.” Jean’s eyes began to dart around the yard. “Where would she be?”

“Oh, she’s got to be around here somewhe-”

“JEAN?”

Marco stiffened at the sound of his mother’s voice. “Oh no,” he sighed.

“What?” Jean glanced worriedly at him. To Marco’s amusement, there was a genuine fear reflected back at him. “What is it?”

“Just… brace yourself. You’re about to become forcibly adopted.”

“Wha-?”

Eleanor barrelled into the pair of them like a freight train, Marco managing to dodge the full blast as she nearly swept Jean off his feet in her excitement. “Jean! Dear, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon! Not that that’s a problem, that’s fine, but oh it’s good to see you! I hope you had a good week, I hope you weren’t worrying about getting here because we’ll make you feel right at home, and oh you look half-starved-”

“Mum, leave him alone!” Marco cringed. The second-hand embarrassment was radiating from him in tidal waves; he was forced to clutch a hand to his face to avoid looking at her. “Not everyone’s used to ultimate friendliness!”

“Oh, yes, quite right.” When Eleanor finally released Jean it looked as though he’d been caught in the midst of a tiny tornado. “Marco, take Jean’s bags to his room won’t you?” she said, a business head clicking back into place. “I’ll get Sina nice and settled, Jean, don’t you worry about that. Unless you’d rather see to her yourself?”

“E-er…” Jean still looked a little concussed by the sheer enthusiasm that had been thrown at him by Eleanor, and found it difficult to get his words out. “No, that’s fine, go ahead. I’ll just help Marco, I guess?”

Marco shook his head, the embarrassment still clinging to his clothes. “I’ll just put Bubbles away and I’ll be right with you.”

Once the pony was back in her stable and her saddle and bridle in the tack room, it seemed only a blink of an eye before he and Jean were struggling upstairs to the spare room with one large suitcase and a very heavy rucksack between them. After having dumped them both on Jean’s bed, Marco stood aside, thrusting his hands in his pockets idly. “S-sorry about mum. She likes visitors. We don’t get them that often, so when we do she likes to go all out,” he explained. 

Jean blinked. “Oh- no, it’s fine. It’s nice to have the attention, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I know, an attention-seeker isn’t the best sort of person to hang around with. But it’s what comes with being the youngest of four- you take all the attention you can carry.” Jean had began to take things out of his rucksack, dirtied with age, and stuck a few things on the windowsill. Marco felt like this was a highly personal activity, something everyone had a system for, and offered to leave. He had chores to do anyway, and he was sure that Jean didn’t want him infringing on his personal space. _He_ wouldn’t want that, at least… but all the other boy did was shrug. “You can go if you’re busy, but it’d be nice if you stayed.”

_It’d be nice if you stayed._ Something about that made Marco warm inside. It was a casually thrown remark, and he was sure Jean wasn’t aware of how much he needed to hear something like that, but it gave him enough confidence to shrug back and mutter a heavy, “Sure, whatever,” whilst sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Casualness 1: Anxiety 0.

He could almost punch the air with how good that felt.

“So, you lived here all your life?” Jean asked, bringing out a handful of books and placing them in a pile in front of Marco.

“Yeah, for as long as I can remember. I think we moved here when I was a baby, but I’ve never known any better…”

“You like it here?”

“Yeah. I love the wide open spaces… if you want to have horses, this is the best place to be,” Marco replied with a polite smile.

“Doesn’t it get lonely though? This place looks pretty isolated; I didn’t see a proper town centre of anything on the drive up.”

“Oh, well, no we don’t have anything like that, but… we make our own entertainment, I guess?”

Jean glanced up from his unpacking to quirk an eyebrow at him. “You _do_ have a TV, right?”

Marco snorted. “Yes, we have a TV. Full colour and everything.”

“Woah, get you.”

Marco grinned, and picked up one of the books on the pile. He couldn’t help it. He was a naturally curious person, and though it often got him into awkward situations he figured Jean wouldn’t mind. “‘ _King Lear’?_ ” he read. “I… didn’t have you down for a Shakespeare fan.”

“That’s because I’m not. I have to do work on it over the summer. It sucks ass.” Marco offered the book to Jean, and the other boy took it gratefully. “I like his sonnets though. Suppose that’s the nerd in me.”

“I’ve never read any,” Marco admitted.

“You should. They’re great.” Jean had gotten out his laptop now, a sleek looking model without a trace of dust on it that he stuck on the desk Marco’s mother had been spending all week decluttering.

And that was how it went on. Conversation came so easily to them that there never really was a moment of awkward silence to eat away at Marco’s insides. It was just the opposite, actually; once Jean got going, it was hard to make him stop. Marco soon forgot his nerves and ended up sprawled on the stretch of bed that was available to him, listening to Jean talk as he put and placed his things about the small room and occasionally adding to the conversation with a simple ‘oh’ and ‘yeah’ and ‘I see’. He found out that Jean didn’t mind boarding school but hated the teachers, that he was a massive fan of Bon Jovi and had gone to see them three times, he’d had an emo/goth phase in the middle of secondary school, he’d cried like a baby at the end of Black Beauty… suddenly all of these intricate parts of Jean’s life were revealed to him as though they were titbits, and Marco ate it all up.

“Gah, sorry. I’ve been blabbing at you for ages,” Jean said as he turned back from the desk again. “You’ll probably know my whole fucking life story and I won’t know a thing about you.”

“Oh, psh, there’s nothing interesting about me!” Marco protested.

Jean didn’t look convinced. “Yeaaaah,” he answered sceptically. “I’m not buying it. C’mon, tell me something about yourself. There’s got to be _something_ , right?”

Marco frowned, shuffling so his back was straight against the wall. Something interesting about himself? He had to think of something cool, edgy- but for some reason, nothing was coming to mind. The only thing he could think of was- “I draw?”

Jean stared at him. “Wow, that’s the biggest, darkest secret I’ve ever heard,” he quipped.

Marco should have felt awkward, like he wished the ground would swallow him up. But for some reason, he just laughed. “Shut up! You put me on the spot!” he said, grabbing a pillow and throwing it in Jean’s direction.

Jean smirked as it sailed over his head. “Your aim sucks. What do you draw?” he asked, throwing the pillow right back at him.

Marco caught it and held it to his chest. “What I see, I guess,” he replied, watching as Jean kicked the suitcase off the bed and sat down next to him.

“No naked girls then?” Was the next question.

Marco blushed violently. “N-no!” he said, shoving the pillow at Jean. “Do you see any naked girls running around here?!”

Jean gave him a wolfish grin. “Isn’t that what guys do if they can draw? Draw their girlfriends naked?”

Marco frowned at him. Jean had to be making fun of him. Did he seriously think that he, Marco Bodt, the poster boy for social anxiety, was in any way capable of a relationship? “Why would you think I have a girlfriend?” he blurted out. It had sounded it a little more suave in his head; it came out genuinely confused.

Jean mirrored his frown. “So you don’t?”

Marco opened his mouth a few times in an attempt to retort, but instead settled for a simple, “No.”

“Huh. I genuinely thought you and Ackerman were an item…”

“I _told_ you, she’s not interested!” Marco said.

“Yeah, and I said you were totally in her league.”

Marco’s blush seemed to quadruple. _Don’t remind me._  “What about you?” he said, turning the question back on Jean. “Do you have a girlfriend?” If Jean could pry into private affairs, then so would Marco. It was only fair, after all.

Jean folded his arms and stared up at the ceiling for a while. For a moment, Marco didn’t think he was going to respond. His eyes traced the path of the filled in cracks where there had been a leakage years ago, and Marco wondered if he was secretly judging the state of the house. Then Jean spoke. “I have Marlow,” he replied.

“Marlow?” Marco frowned. “That’s a guy’s name.”

Jean shifted his position to give Marco an unimpressed look. “Oh, no shit Sherlock. He’s my boyfriend.”

“O-oh…”

The score had evened out. Casualness 1: Anxiety 1.

Marco averted his gaze and took to staring at the ceiling too, following the same filled-in lines Jean had before. Why was that piece of information making his heart smash into his ribcage so much? His stomach was squirming again, like it had when Jean had first arrived, and he wasn’t sure of how to stop it. It wasn’t like Jean being gay bothered him- Marco had never cared about orientation, so long as the person was happy- so _what_ was it? The first awkward silence fell over them. Marco didn’t quite know how to respond to it. “That’s…nice…” he said finally. _Wow, eloquence is not your number one quality, is it Marco?_

Jean smirked. “Well, I’m kinda attached to him, yeah.” His smirk fell. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“What?” Marco’s eyes widened when he realised what Jean meant. “Oh, no, not at all! Sorry, there’s no problem at all, it’s fine! I just… didn’t expect it.”

Jean could have quite easily launched into a tirade about not every gay man pranced about acting like a fairy queen, but instead he chuckled. “Nobody ever does. Dad likes to pretend I’m not.” Marco noticed that he was still avoiding his eye, and there were the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s one of the reasons he’s especially pissed right now. One, Marlow came to see me and two, I’m helping you guys out. Only need to play the ‘failing classes’ card, and boom. Hat-trick.” Jean slithered down the wall slightly. “That’s not gonna be difficult, considering I’m close to doing just that.”

Marco frowned. “What are you stuck on?” he asked as Jean stuffed his head onto the abandoned pillow.

“Life.” The reply was muffled through the stuffing of the pillow.

Marco sniggered. “Try again,” he said gently, “and this time in English, please?”

Jean propped his chin up on the pillow, blowing a few stray chunks of hair out of his eyes. “English n’ History,” he grumbled.

Ah. That explained the _King Lear._ “W-well, I could always try to help you, if you want. I’m not great with the science aspect of things, but if you needed help with English…”

“It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

Marco had a feeling that Jean was lying to make him feel better, but decided to ignore it. Instead, he leant back on his palms and took a look around the room that was now slowly becoming an essence of Jean. It looked happy this way. How a room could look happy, Marco wasn’t sure, but that was how it looked. He glanced down at Jean again, still flopped against the pillow, and gave a smile the other boy couldn’t see. “Well, if you ever change your mind, the offer’s there.” Jean grunted and turned onto his back. He was like a cat, Marco realised with a snigger. A cat who liked to stretch. He then remembered he had chores left to do, and made his excuses to leave. He liked to think that, just before he left, Jean looked sad to see him go. But it was probably just a trick of the light.

+++

Marco didn’t see Jean for the rest of the day; he was too busy mucking out a handful of stalls and tacking and untacking horses for their lessons. His mind was still elsewhere, back up in the spare room with the boy sprawled out on the bed.

_God, that sounded dirty now he thought about it. Horny loser._

Sina looked like she was settling in rather well. She wasn’t hiding from sight out of nerves, but had her nose practically stuck in everyone’s hands as they passed. It was as though she wasn’t used to seeing so many people. When Marco brought Champ in from the paddock bordering the arena Sina looked as though all her Christmases had come early at the prospect of a neighbour. “You two behave yourselves, got it?” Marco said, grinning as Champ nuzzled into him. Sina arched her neck to reach him, but he was already leading the old gelding into the stable, and she snorted irritably at the inconvenience. “You have your own human to fuss over you!” Marco called out to her, chuckling as he set to work rubbing Champ down.

Even though the old horse had only been in the paddock doing little more than grazing, he needed work on his joints at every opportunity, especially his bandy looking legs. Marco ran his hands along the sinewy front legs and massaged them gently, a soft expression on his face while he worked. His reward was the large sighs of relaxation he heard coming from Champ’s throat, and at one point he even felt a soft weight descend on his shoulder as the old horse napped against him. He chuckled softly so as not to wake him, and did the same for the next leg, his hands firm but yielding against the creaky and brittle joints. “There we are, old man, much better, huh?” he cooed. “We’ve both got bad legs, haven’t we? Gotta take care of ourselves.”

“I dunno, you look pretty sprightly to me.”

Marco froze. “J-Jean?” he asked, straining to turn and look at the other boy without disturbing the snoozing Champ. “W-what are you-?”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. He likes it.” Jean was sliding back the bolt of the stable door. He was speaking in hushed tones, and as Marco turned back to Champ he felt the familiar prickle of someone standing directly behind him. “I got bored upstairs, and your mum wouldn’t let me help, so I came to find you. What are you doing, massage?” Jean whispered.

Marco nodded. “He needs it, otherwise his joints seize up.”

“Really?” When Marco nodded again, Jean scooted into his line of sight. He was sat cross-legged in the straw, watching him intently. “This is the guy you used to compete on, isn’t it? Champ?”

Marco smiled. “That’s right. He looks even worse in his old age, doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t look _that_ bad.” Jean began to run a hand down the leg Marco had already done, his fingers creasing as he swept over the knobbly knees. His brows narrowed. “How old is he now?”

“We’re not really sure. The vet’s guessed he’s about twenty five.”

“Twenty five?!”

Marco shushed him. “Yes, twenty five. He’s still being ridden too, gently.”

Jean looked up at the drooping head with large, amazed eyes. “I can’t believe he’s that old. I think the oldest horse we have at the Academy’s about fifteen.”

“Well, Champ’s part of the family now. We wouldn’t ever part with him.” Marco began to work the other joint under his hands again, pressing and prodding gently to make the stiff joint more supple for the coming morning. “He’s still my baby, aren’t you Champ?” He got a guttural snore in response.

“What does that make Titan then?”

Marco’s jaw set. His hands weakened against the tendons he was massaging. “Titan’s different,” he said simply.

“You know, I know it’s none of my business, but for someone who owns such an amazing looking horse, you sure like going out of your way to avoid having anything to do with him.”

Marco stopped massaging Champ’s legs entirely then. He looked back at Jean, the sigh already on his lips. “It’s… it’s n-none of your business, you’re right,” he said, lowering his eyes the moment he said it. He felt the heat rush into his cheeks, but it was shame he felt instead of embarrassment. He didn’t want to push Jean away. He never wanted to push anyone away; he just always seemed to, as though it was the easier option. That was why Jean’s reply surprised him so much.

“I’m gonna make it my business.”

Marco glanced up at him then, a frown on his face. “What?”

“I’m living with you for the summer. That’s a long few months, Marco. I’ll make it my mission to find out why you ignore that horse.” Jean fixed him with an expression so intense Marco nearly toppled over backwards. It wasn’t even anger- anger he could deal with, frustration even- it was something else. Something deeper than that, and something Marco couldn’t pinpoint. The fire was taking over the amber element of his eyes, and the way his brow furrowed like that… Marco gulped.

“W-why would you bother?” he asked, straightening up. His movement woke Champ up, and the horse blinked blearily down at Jean in his place on the floor.

Jean rolled his eyes and scrambled to his feet. “Do you really want me to say it?” he said. It came out sounding like a whine.

“Do I want you to say what?” Marco frowned.

Jean huffed. “That I want to be your friend, Freckles, and friends worry about each other. That’s why.”

Marco suddenly felt very warm. Jean looked beyond awkward, muttering about how he sounded so childish, like they were in nursery or something, but that didn’t stop Marco from being filled up with a warming feeling that spread up from his toes. Jean had been this untouchable person in his mind, the sort that you could be around but never fully know. Jean was brooding and cool and interesting… but now he realised he was none of those things. As he watched the other boy mutter angrily to himself and kick the straw bedding about with his shoe, he realised that Jean was just a big dork. A big dork who wanted a friend. So, despite it all, he smiled. “You know, you’re a lot nicer than you make out,” he said.

Jean snorted. “Cheers.” Marco noticed that the other boy was blushing, the red of his cheeks blaring like a stop sign.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-” Marco sighed. He needed to stop talking. “Thanks. It’s… sweet of you, t-to care I mean.”

Jean’s face brightened. “So you’ll tell me?”

Marco grinned. “No way.”

Even though it was a subject that scared him half to death, he couldn’t help but laugh when he saw Jean’s face drop. “Aw, c’mon!” Jean groaned as Marco shepherded him to the stable door. “Please? I _will_ get it out of you, just you wait!”

Marco didn’t deny it. Jean would, eventually, get him to tell him everything. He knew he would. But for now, he could put up a bit of a fight. And as they shut the stable door behind them and left Champ to his peace and quiet, Marco began to wonder if he would ever get that luxury again.  


	6. When Push Comes to Shove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I didn't upload in the middle of the week for reasons but I'm double updating now so yay? 
> 
> This is also a freaking long chapter, yeesh sorry about this. In which Marco gets a wake up call, Jean is even more of a dork and memories of cute little 12 year old Marco and Armin abound. Also Jean's a feckin sweetheart in this chapter ugh. Damn fictional babies.

“Marco! Wake up!”

“Nngh.”

“Don’t make me bring in an air horn.”

“Hrrmph.”

Marco opened his eyes and squinted at the sunlight filtering through the curtains of his room. He hadn’t got to sleep at a very reasonable hour the night before, and he felt it. The back of his head was paining slightly in annoyance of being woken, and every single one of his limbs were locked into place like lead. He let out a whine and pulled the covers over his head, shutting his eyes again. Morning could wait. Sleeping couldn’t.

“Marco, come _on_ ,” came a sharp growl. “Your mum told me to come wake you. Up and at ‘em, sleeping beauty.”

“Noo,” Marco groaned. “Sleepy… bed… nice…”

“I don’t care, come on.” Marco then felt someone tugging at his bedsheets. He frowned and held on tighter, his arms trembling with the effort. His tormentor huffed. “Oh for fuck’s sake, let go already!”

“Noo.”

“Marco, get the fuck out of bed.”

“Nooooo.”

“I swear to God Marco if you don’t get out of bed this minute-”

Marco cracked an eye open and peered over the top of the sheets. His still sleepy brain suddenly kicked into gear and recognised that the person looming over him muttering all the curses under the sun was none other than-

“-Jean!” Marco yelped in surprise, pulling his bedsheets around him so violently Jean fell forwards onto the bed. Cue an even louder yelp as Marco scrambled away from him, drawing his covers about him like a frightened maid. “What are you _doing_ in here?!” he demanded.

“Getting you up, you dick! Ow.” Jean sat up and rubbed the side of his head with a wince. He was already fully dressed, his clothes today similar to the ones he’d worn the day before. And the day before that. Come to think of it, Jean seemed to have lots of clothes, but only in varying colours. Today he sported a dark green flannel shirt, and Marco’s mind jumped to the conclusion that Jean should wear green more often. _What the hell, brain? Shut up, you idiot._ “Do we have to go through this every day?” Jean complained.

“If you insist on coming in here and waking me up without permission, then _yes_ we do!” Marco cried. “Don’t you knock?!”

“Marco, I could break the door down and you’d still sleep through it.” Jean gave him a playful grin. “Don’t know what your problem is. You’re not naked under there, are you?”

Marco tried to glower, but it came out like a mild frown as he muttered, “Get out of my room,” through a violent blush.

Jean did exactly the opposite; he fell back against the bed and let his head rest dangerously near Marco’s feet. “Sheesh, so grumpy this morning.” Marco lowered his covers and shot Jean a proper scowl. Jean was a good morning person- too much of a morning person. He’d been at the stables for a few days now, and he was already settling into the timetable the stables ran to. He was up at sunrise, and bothering Marco by six. Marco had to hand it to Jean- he was punctual. “What’s up Freckles, not get any sleep after watching _The Woman in Black_ last night?”

Marco shuddered at the memory. It had been Jean’s suggestion. They commandeered the TV for the better half of the evening every night since Jean arrived, and after subjecting him to _Seabiscuit_ the first night (Jean had sniffled) and then _Forrest Gump_ the next (Jean had wailed) Marco had let him take charge of what they watched. Big mistake. “Why did you make me watch that right before I was meant to sleep?” Marco complained.

“That’s the beauty of it. Now get up!” Marco grunted and finally scooched over to the edge of the bed, batting Jean out of the way as he stood up to stretch. Jean merely spread out further on Marco’s now vacant bed, and Marco muttered something inaudibly in his direction. “What was that?” Jean asked.

“You’re jus’ making me wanna go back to be-he-” Marco’s speech was cut off by a large yawn. “-d.”

Jean snorted with laughter. “Fucking hell, you yawn like a lion. Got the mane for it too, sergeant bedhead.”

“Shu’up.” Marco yawned again. He was always the most comfortable and confident around people, ironically enough, when he wasn’t really awake. In the few minutes between being half-asleep and fully awake, he could grumble out a speech to a waiting army. But once the realisation set in, the stifling feeling began to creep back into the recesses of his mind. At the moment, it was fluctuating; part of him was still nestled comfortably in his dreams, and the other half was very aware that Jean, a guy he’d only known properly for about a week, was sat on his bed giving him a smirk that would have melted diamonds. He was also very aware that he only had on a grubby old shirt and a pair of boxers. He gulped as the feeling came back to him, like after a numbed limb was woken up. Then he remembered his leg. A jolt rushed through him as he tucked it behind his other leg, out of sight of Jean, before he began, “I n-need to change now…”

 “Alright. I’ll shut my eyes.”

Marco stared at him. Oh no. No, no, no. “You can’t stay here!” he said.

Jean shrugged, to Marco’s abject horror. “Don’t see why I can’t. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen it all before…”

“Jean…” Marco began, already feeling a blush coming on. His stomach clenched awkwardly.

“I’m just saying. You have a dick, I have a dick…”

“Yeah, well you _like_ dicks!” Marco burst out in a panic, “So shoo!”

Jean looked startled at first, as though he hadn’t expected to see Marco shout, ever. Then he burst out laughing. “You have a way with words, don’t you? I kinda like that, has a nice ring to it…” he framed the invisible words above him as he proclaimed, “Jean Kirschtein: he likes dicks.”

“Would you just get out?!” Jean was still cackling as Marco wrestled him out of his room, making a point not to step anywhere within Jean’s line of vision with his worse leg. “Out! Out, out, out, out, out!”

“I’m going, shit!” Jean managed to get out through his laughter as he was shoved out the door. “Just a quick question though, before I go?”

“What?”

Jean grinned. “Why do you ignore Titan?”

Marco’s stomach didn’t even drop anymore. Jean had asked him about it enough that it was physically impossible for his body to keep up the reaction long enough. Instead he washed a hand over his face and let out a groan of frustration. Jean took that as his cue, and bolted down the hallway, still sniggering. Marco felt the blush slowly subside from his cheeks and shut the door securely with a sigh. He couldn’t deal with Jean’s brightness in the morning, especially when he asked the usual question. Wasn’t it obvious enough? Clearly not, in Jean’s case. Marco frowned and set about pulling on his cleanest looking clothes before stumbling along the too-bright hallway for the stairs.

Jean asked twice more about Titan over breakfast. Marco flicked toast at him to shut him up until his mother turned around and caught him at it. “Honestly, it’s like I’m babysitting a pair of toddlers!” she scolded as she ordered them to clear up after themselves, but there was a smile in her voice. “Now, go on, _you_ ,” she pointed at her son, “have chores to do! And Jean, you have a lesson to take at 11.”

Jean nodded. “No problem, Mrs. Bodt. I can help Marco with the chores ‘til then.”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” Marco said immediately. “I can handle it!”

Jean shrugged. “I want to. It beats just wandering around aimlessly for a few hours. I might as well earn my keep.”

“You’re already doing that!”

“Still.” Jean smiled. “I don’t mind.”

Marco was sure he’d change his mind once he realised the ‘chores’ in question involved mucking out stalls. He was pleasantly surprised, therefore, when Jean started rolling up his sleeves at the sight of them, empty and stinking. “Okay. You take that one, I take this one?” he said, singling out stalls as Marco nodded dumbly. They set to work silently at first, Marco’s leg paining every now and again as he moved in a particularly different way to fork the dirty straw into the waiting wheelbarrow. But after they had finished a stall each, Jean started singing.

_“Weep for yourself, my man, you’ll never be what is in your hea-art…”_

Marco stopped working for a moment, listening intently. Jean was no singer, but there was a sort of soothing tone to it that was… nice to hear. His voice was softer, softer than when he spoke at least, and it made Marco smile.

_“Weep little lion man, you’re not as brave as you were at the staa-art…”_

He recognised the song, but couldn’t place it. He started to work again, digging into the sodden bedding with all his might, but he couldn’t ignore the soft murmurings of Jean’s voice. Every now and again the song was cut off by a grunt of effort or a curse as Jean either dropped his pitchfork or a chunk of dirty bedding, and Marco had to cover up his sniggers. Dork. The song gradually fizzled out as either Jean forgot the words or became too conscious to carry on, and Marco’s giggles got loud enough to be caught. “Are you laughing at me, Bodt?” Jean asked. He sounded flustered-had he really not realised Marco could hear him?

Marco bit his lip as he smiled, throwing another load of straw into the wheelbarrow. “Not at you! Um… what song is that?”

“Little Lion Man,” was the humbled reply. “You done?”

“Almost!”

After they successfully bedded down the now clean stalls and tied up a few haynets, Jean frowned. “Where’s Titan?”

Marco nearly dropped the haynet he was holding, and Jester snorted in annoyance. “Er… I dunno, probably in the paddock,” he said, his fingers fumbling with the knots. He was used to avoiding the stall that held him. He had forgotten that not everyone did the same. Jester tried to shove Marco out of the way, but with a glare Marco shoved him back. He managed to tie the net securely after a second try. “Mum puts him out there in the mornings so he can stretch his legs.”

Jean looked thoughtful. “Which paddock?” he asked.

“Er, the one by the ménage probabl- hey!” Marco shouted as Jean set off at a brisk pace, nearly tripping over in his efforts to follow him. He didn’t need to ask where he was going. With a sigh he followed, slackening his pace and thrusting his hands in his pockets, hanging back as the ashen-and-dark head got further and further away. Sina’s ears pricked up as she noticed Jean walk past her, but he ignored her for the moment. Marco cast her a look of sympathy, giving a small pat to her swan-like neck as consolation, but let his eyes wander over to Jean. The other boy was leant on the paddock fence watching the dark shape that moved inside it, and Marco gave a pained look to Sina. “Is he always like this?” he asked. The mare batted her eyelashes at him. “Thought so,” he muttered.

“Marco! Stop flirting with Sina and come look at _your_ horse!”

Marco huffed and walked over, every step feeling leaden and heavy. He copied Jean’s pose against the fence and turned to look at him. “Why are you so interested in my horse?” he asked.

“Because he belongs to you,” Jean answered. “Also, he’s looking fat.”

“What?! Fat?!” Marco tore his gaze away from the other boy and instead laid it on the giant frame that stood grazing in the centre of the paddock. His look soured when he realised that Jean had said that just to get him looking, but now he was he couldn’t look away.

Titan looked beautiful in the mornings, Marco couldn’t deny that. The sun hit his coat in such a way that his coat shone like polished stone, and he seemed to swell with good health and pride. His mane and tail were getting long, too, and they swayed leisurely in the breeze along with the blades of grass that rustled under his hooves. He looked rather alone, stood in the paddock with nothing but the bugs and occasional rabbit for company. Marco’s mother never let him out with any of the other horses; he tended to make them nervous. His hot blood and colossal frame was enough to put off any potential equine companion at the stables. Titan was a giant in his kingdom, and he knew it. He lifted his head from grazing to stare at the two boys watching him from the other side of the fence, and then returned to grazing, teeth nimbly cropping the grass around him. The muscle of his shoulder twitched every now and again to ward off biting insects.

Jean expelled his breath. “He’s quite something, you know.”

Marco nodded, something in his heart settling as he let his eyes rove over the sleek form. “Yeah, he is,” he admitted. He could barely say anything else.

“Shame he’s not a stallion,” Jean noted.

“Mmm.”

Titan was chunkier than Sina, he noticed. The great black body was built like a great gladiator instead of the lithe dancer that was Jean’s mare, and as Titan broke into a trot to reach the other side of the pasture he had a more laboured, heavy stride. The potential power behind him was phenomenal, though, and Marco knew exactly what the gelding was capable of.

Jean’s next comment was predicted and well-known by Marco’s ears. “Do you really not like him that much? I mean, I see you avoiding him every time you’re near him. Sorry, but I just don’t see why - I mean, look at him.”

Marco looked. He bit his lip.

_The mist that cloaked them. The screams of an angry horse. The blood… oh God, the blood…_

Marco snapped out of the memory with a jolt, gripping the side of the fence so tightly his knuckles were turning white. He’d broken out in tremors, and he made a valiant effort not to look at Jean as he fought to keep his composure. He could taste blood on his lip. He’d almost bitten right through. Titan was watching them again, but this time he was walking over, his head lowered submissively and his ears lazily perched on top of his head. Marco immediately took a step back, his chest threatening to constrict him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t. He took another step away from the fence and felt his breath come a little easier.

“Woah, it’s okay.” At first, Marco thought Jean was talking to Titan, but as he felt himself sway a little the hands that gripped him brought him back to earth with a bump. He looked blankly down at the concerned eyes. Then he realised. “Wow, something’s seriously wrong, huh?” Jean said.

Marco sighed and avoided his eye. “Y-you have… you have a lesson to teach soon. I should go…”

“Marco…”

“I need to tack up the horses you need. A-and then I need to clean out more stalls, and groom the Shetlands and…”

“Marco. Look at me.”

His eyes snapped obediently back to Jean’s. The amber was burning, but Jean didn’t look mad. He looked… worried. _Scared_ , almost. He gulped. Oh no. He’d managed to scare Jean off. He’d been enough of a freak to turn him away- not that he was surprised, he did that all the time. _Shut up brain._ He tried to stop his lip from shaking, even though he knew that Jean was possibly about to say something that would totally warrant it doing so. “I’m s-sorry…” he tried weakly.

Jean looked even more alarmed by the apology. “You don’t have to be sorry, man, honestly. I just- shit, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” he said, eyes searching every inch of Marco’s face like a freckle or two would leap out and give him the answer to the problem.

“I’ll be fine… just need to get back to work…” Marco began. He sounded faint.

Jean snorted. “Yeah, alright. I’m getting you some water and you are sitting down.”

“Jean, I-”

“No buts, sit. Or I will tie you to a chair.”

In the end, Jean didn’t let Marco move for at least half an hour, insisting that he needed to keep calm and get the colour back in his face. Marco tried to explain that it wasn’t really so much a medical thing as a mental one, but Jean was adamant. There was really no arguing with him. Jean didn’t have a clue, but he still tried. He even went so far as to clean out the other stalls for him, to Marco’s dismay; whenever Marco tried to get up to help, babbling that he was fine now, Jean brandished his pitchfork at him with a threatening expression. Marco rolled his eyes but sat back down, arms folded like a punished child.

Jean was happy enough to let Marco tack up the horses and ponies needed for the lesson, however. When Marco meekly attended to Magic, the chunky dark bay cob with feet slightly too big for him, Jean was swinging a saddle over Raven. Marco raised a brow. “You okay over there?”

“I’m fine.” Jean moved to Raven’s other side to fasten the girth more securely, and cleared his throat. “Er, I’m sorry. About before.”

Marco frowned. Jean was… apologising? “Why are you sorry?” he asked.

“For being a dick and not letting you do your job.” Jean was making an effort not to look at Marco, his eyes on the girth buckles as he replied, “I panic a little too much sometimes. I get worried, and I panic, and… I know you just wanted to get up and deal with it, but you looked like you were going to pass out. And I didn’t want you passing out on me cus I have no fucking idea what to do in that situation.” His voice lowered. “I guess it was selfish of me, in a way.”

Marco blinked. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Jean was apologising… for caring? Granted, Marco had been a bit annoyed at the fact Jean wouldn’t let him help, but only out of guilt. He didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. That was, he guessed, one of his many problems. “Oh,” he mumbled. “W-well I don’t think it’s selfish at all. You can’t be selfish if you care like that.”

Jean turned to him then, and Marco saw the drawn-down brows. Jean was biting his lip. “I know, but… well, you’re probably used to whatever that was, and I overreacted, so.” He shrugged.

Marco looked down at his feet. He could feel what he _wanted_ to say bubble up through him, so violently that it surprised him, and before he could stop he burst out, “Can I be honest with you?” It sounded like a bold, direct statement, but it was shaking with how badly Marco had wanted to say it.

“Uh, sure, shoot.”

Marco frowned, still paying close attention to his boots. _How to word this…_ “I… get these a lot,” he began. “I don’t even know what ‘these’ are, but- er- anyway. What I’m trying to say is that usually someone’s first port of call is to ask w-why I have them. And… I never want to say, so it just gets them mad.” He didn’t know if any of what he was saying was making sense. It sounded like a jumbling mess to him, but when he snatched a glimpse of Jean’s face the other boy looked like he understood. Sort of. “B-but you didn’t, you… you just wanted to know if I was okay. I don’t get that often. It was really nice of you.” He spun back to Magic’s saddle once he was done in an attempt to hide what he’d said, his heart racing so fast he could hear it pulsing in his ears. “Thanks,” he blurted. Magic shifted with him, but he held him steady as he lifted the saddle flap back down, his face hot. _Well done, Marco. You’ve gone and made it awkward now._

Once he was finished with Magic he turned back to ask Jean something else- something casual to throw them back onto the right track again- when he noticed Jean’s face. The boy’s face was a really tasteful shade of pink, and he was giving Marco a heavily lidded smile. Marco panicked. “Wh-what?! Did I do something wrong? Oh God, sorry if I was being an idiot, I shouldn’t have said anythi-”

“It’s fine… you’re just…” Jean chuckled dryly. “You’re just fucking cute, man, I’m sorry.”

“Cute?!”

“Yeah. Cute.” Jean shook himself free of the smile, but blushed even harder. He seemed to remember something. “I-I think Raven’s done, so…”

“Y-yeah. You… go… do stuff.” _Oh my fucking God._

He was saved by the arrival of the first few riding students, and took the opportunity to flee into Champ’s stall to get him ready. The old gelding looked interestedly in Marco’s direction as he slid the bolt back and took the reins over his head. “Champ… when am I ever going to take compliments?” he muttered to the old horse. Champ merely gave a hacking cough in reply.

+++

Marco planned to get the horses tacked up, help the students onto them if necessary, and then run away to the safety of his room for the rest of the day. What he hadn’t planned was to be stood leaning on the fence of the ménage, watching Jean Kirschtein take a lesson. He had already embarrassed himself enough, it was true, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. He wanted to know what Jean was like. He had watched the other lessons sometimes; Erwin’s commanding voice had been like a general ordering his battalion, and Hanji was often very encouraging to the point of erratic.

Jean was neither.

His voice was drowned out by the rolling of hooves, and the only encouragement he gave was a small smile. He looked small in the middle of the arena as horses and riders churned about him, but he had them moving at a smart pace. Eleanor had watched some of his first lessons, and told Marco that Jean had a talent for knowing a rider’s weaknesses, but didn’t have the guts to speak up and tell them so. Marco wasn’t sure what lesson his mother had been watching, but now…

“Hey! You! Sara, right? Give Pegasus a little nudge with your heels, he looks asleep! And don’t worry, you won’t hurt him- he’s made of stronger stuff. Thomas, keep those heels down, and look _up!_ We all know Raven’s stunning but we don’t want you on the floor do we?”

Marco chuckled to himself as he watched Jean order the children about. It was done in a jokey, gentle way; as if he knew not to insult them, but make them laugh instead. They were working without stirrups today, and Marco was sure Jean was enjoying himself. “Sit deep into the saddle, so you can feel your seat bones! Just let your legs hang down, but keep those heels up!” he ordered, glancing at each rider in turn. Yes, Marco decided as Jean turned to give him a grin, he was enjoying himself. The children seemed to be too, if their smiles and laughter was anything to go by…

“Marco!”

Marco nearly jumped out of his skin. Armin was stood behind him, smiling like an angel. “Don’t _do_ that!” he complained, clutching a hand to his chest as the boy beside him chuckled. He skipped the ‘what are you doing here’s and ‘it’s good to see you’s and jumped straight to the important part. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?!”

Armin was still chuckling. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You looked like you were in your own little world over here.”

“Trost Academy’s made you meaner, Armin.”

“Maybe Jean’s rubbing off on me. Speaking of Jean-” Armin’s eyes fell on the figure in the ménage, now explaining the importance of being able to trot without stirrups, “-how is he? He’s not annoying you too much, right?”

“No, not at all!” Marco replied. “Actually, I think we’re getting on rather well.”

“Figures. Jean took a shine to you pretty quickly, and once he does that you’re hard pushed to get rid of him.” Armin watched the eagerly pacing horses for a moment. “He looks like he’s working the kids hard,” he remarked.

“Yeah, he’s doing really well. Mum’s really impressed with him, and you know it’s difficult to get her pleased.”

“Wow. Jean really is honoured, to have the Eleanor Bodt seal of approval.” Armin turned around then, shutting the lesson out. He looked around the yard with a soft smile. “I missed this place. I’m off for the rest of the day, and I couldn’t resist coming to visit. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, not at all! It’s good to see you,” Marco said, and meant it. He felt comfortable with Armin. He didn’t need to hide anything from him. It was like a breath of fresh air, when he was used to living in a place filled with smog. “How’s the bookshop?”

“Dusty,” Armin said. “Boring, sometimes. But it gives me the chance to read whatever I like in there. It’s my idea of paradise.”

“I can imagine.”

“There is another reason I came over, actually. I was sorting out stuff in my room last week and I found this.” Armin fished around in the beaten-looking satchel bag he had with him. Marco let his gaze flit over to the ménage again and saw that Jean was looking at them. He could have blushed. He could have looked sharply away and pretended he hadn’t been looking at all. Instead, he gave a small smile of recognition. When Jean did the same, Marco swore something in his chest hiccupped. “Aha! Here it is!” Armin said, pulling out a very old videotape.

Marco frowned. “What is it?”

“My dad used to record the shows he went to, like the embarrassing parent he was, and this has us in it! It might even have Jean, I haven’t been able to check… but it’s a tape of the Wings tournament we all did! Isn’t that cool?”

Marco grinned. “Wow, Armin, that’s awesome! I can’t remember your dad filming anything.”

“I think we tried our best to avoid the camera,” Armin smiled, “but I wondered if you have a VHS player here? I used to have one, but it broke about a year ago. I wouldn’t usually ask, but…”

“No, that’s fine. Er…” Marco frowned as he tried to think. “I think we have one. I’ll have to ask mum about it when she gets back from shopping. I think she’s actually going to try to cook something aside from stew tonight…”

Armin’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Do you think there will be enough room for one more? I’m sick of having to live off of my own awful cooking.”

As it turned out, Marco’s mother was over the moon to find that her son had a friend over. Once the lessons were all dealt with, the horses rubbed down and put away with their buckets and haynets full, the four of them sat down to one of the best meals Marco had had in ages. Not because of the food, but because he had Jean and Armin there, joking and laughing amongst themselves and letting him in on the jokes too. The pair got on really well, and Marco was thankful. He wanted to spend a lot of the summer with Armin, and if Jean and Armin hadn’t been friends to start with… well, it could have gotten awkward. He felt himself relaxing around them both, his inhibitions falling away like a shed skin. Soon he didn’t care whether Jean thought he was weird; he just wanted to keep making him laugh.

After the laughter died away, Armin piped up, “So, do you want to have a look at this video or what?”

“Hell yeah I do,” Jean said, “I want to see if you really have grown or not!”

Armin glanced at Marco for confirmation, and Marco smiled. “Why not?” There was the possibility that it would make him sad, it was true, but at the same time curiosity overrode everything else. “Mum, do you still have that VHS player?”

“It’s in the office, I think,” Eleanor called over her shoulder. She was busy doing the washing up, although the boys’ offers to help had been gracefully declined. “I can’t believe you have a copy of a show, Armin. Our old video recorder chewed itself up years ago, and we never took it to showgrounds; I think we were afraid to break it!” She looked over her shoulder and beamed at them all. “Why don’t you go ahead? There’s nothing in that office I need to hide. I might come and have a look in a sec, once I’m done.”

They took that as their cue to leave, and with a scraping of chairs all three walked down the hallway as one to the waiting office. Marco walked in between Armin and Jean, enjoying the close proximity of them both. “Have you really not been able to see it yet, Armin?”

“Nope,” the other boy sighed, “so it might be really bad. We might not be able to see anything, but I thought it was interesting.”

“Definitely is,” Jean agreed as they reached the room. It was strewn with invoices and details for the stables’ running, and Marco shifted a handful of them out of the way to reach a dust-covered VHS player. It looked ancient, but once he plugged it into the equally ancient looking spare TV and pressed the power button it whirred into tired life. Armin brandished the tape and got to work setting it up. “It’s gonna be interesting to see you two being cute little dorks as kids, too,” Jean added with a grin.

Marco gave Jean a look. There was that word again. Cute. Was Jean the type of person to call everyone he knew cute? Marco couldn’t tell. He certainly didn’t appear to be that sort of person, but he didn’t know him as well as he would have liked. Maybe he did. Marco managed to win his battle with the fatal blush and even managed to retort with a quick, “Maybe we’ll see cute little dorky Jean, too,” without skipping a beat. It clearly startled Armin, for his snort of laughter was a little too loud when he saw Jean’s face drop.

“I was never a cute little dork. I was always a manly man,” Jean defended, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

Marco grinned. “You’re a manly man now?”

Jean looked offended. “I’m a manlier man than you two!”

Marco chuckled. “Oh yeah, _sooo_ manly.”

“Are you looking for trouble, Bodt?”

“You going to give it, Kirschtein?”

“Woah, Marco!” Armin said, laughing at Jean’s surprise, “You’re on fire tonight!”  

Marco smiled, his shyness threatening to creep back into play. He really _had_ gotten used to Jean. “I guess I’m just in a good mood.”

“I bring it out in you,” Jean said. He almost sounded proud.

“Ever the modest one,” Marco replied.

“Guys! Guys, I think it’s working!” Armin’s voice distracted both of them for the moment, and their heads snapped as one to the small, outdated screen.

The noise was a little fuzzy, as was the picture at times, but sure enough there was something there. It had the typical quality of old home video, where all the colour looked just a little bit out of place and the outline of things was blurred, but the first thing they saw was a twelve year old boy with large blue eyes and a little blonde bowl-cut, leading a bay horse that was way too big for him. He stopped dead at the sight of the camera and smiled shyly.

“Heyyy, look, it’s little Armin!” Jean said gleefully, leaning in closer.

The twelve year old Armin was ordered to wave at the camera by his father, and he turned red. _“Daa-aad,”_ he whined, _“stop filming meee.”_ Marco had to admit, Armin looked pretty adorable. Without being cruel, he wanted to say how things hadn’t much changed for the boy. He still looked pretty similar to his younger self, though his voice had dropped a little. _“Film Marco! He wants to be filmed!”_

_“Nooo.”_

Marco’s heart skipped as he heard his own voice reflected back at him. And then he was on the screen. He was gangly, with his dark hair struggling free of the helmet he had crammed onto his head. Marco remembered how unruly it had been, and how he decided to get it all neatened up by the time he was sixteen- before it came back with a vengeance. He was happy and smiling and letting Champ follow behind like a dog, and it struck him how much he’d changed. _“Film Champ!”_ he was saying as he patted his horse. _“He’s a good boy!”_ Champ turned his head to nuzzle Marco, and he let out a little giggle.

“Aww.”

“Shut up, Jean.”

The little Marco and Armin on the screen were together now, arms around each other as they laughed and joked. The sound was lost in a fizz of static, and Marco swallowed painfully. They were so happy… he felt sorry for the boy he was watching, the boy who had no idea how his life was going to turn out. If he could go back in time and tell his younger self that he wouldn’t be riding anymore, he was sure he wouldn’t be believed. Even now, he found it hard to grasp.

The footage cut then. It moved on to the actual course itself, the ‘wings’ being on each component of the course in bold blue and white. There was a bit of shaky film of a horse and rider they didn’t recognise, before it cut again to a round that had just been taken. The pony was being trotted out of the arena, a neat little blue roan with white feet, but the rider was too far away to recognise. Jean, however, found his voice. “H-holy shit, that’s me!” he cried, pointing at the screen. “That’s me, that’s Blue, I’d know those little feet anywhere!”

“Blue?” Marco questioned, turning to look at him.

“My pony. Second pony, I think. Cute as hell but a little nightmare.” Jean laughed as he clapped a hand to his face. “Oh my God, that’s so weird.”

“Now you know how _we_ feel,” Armin replied, turning back to the screen. By now, Armin was jumping the course with his bay. Marco couldn’t remember its name. The film was too shaky to really show anything important, but Armin was grinning nonetheless. “Wow, he filmed the whole thing? Embarrassing parent of the year award goes to my dad.”

“It’s sweet,” Marco said, not really paying attention as the footage had cut again, and this time it was himself he saw tackling the course. He was little more than a blur as he took Champ around the course, the chestnut working for him with such unwavering loyalty it brought tears to his eyes. Champ had been old even then, and he was still jumping his heart out. Though the film didn’t hone in on his face at all, Marco knew he’d been smiling the entire way through it. He’d been so excited. He remembered the soft loping gait of Champ, the springy way he cleared the fences, and he let the smile spread across his face. He’d felt alive, just at that moment, as he’d cleared the final fence and been declared the winner. He’d felt like he could take on the world and win, just for that moment.

_Why did I give it up?_ He found himself asking. _Why did I ever, ever refuse that chance?_

Then the footage cut again, for the last time. Armin’s father was asking his son if he was disappointed that he didn’t win. “ _Not really,”_ Armin said with a smile, _“because Marco won. He deserved to win- he trained so hard!”_

_“Well,”_ Armin’s father replied, _“you should go congratulate him then, here he comes!”_

Armin did just that. He practically threw himself at Marco and the two boys hugged tightly, laughing in a tangle of limbs. The little Marco had a cup in one hand that he seemed almost embarrassed to be holding, and looked happier to see Armin than anything else. And then, Marco’s parents entered the frame.

His _father_ entered the frame.

Marco’s smile dropped off his face. He felt like a gallon of ice had been poured down his back and into his stomach. He could feel Armin’s eyes burning into him, and he bit his lip. He hadn’t expected this; it must have been on one of the few occasions his father turned up to a competition. And he was laughing. He was smiling and laughing with an arm around a grinning Eleanor and one arm free to rub Marco’s shoulder happily. _“You did me proud out there,”_ he said to a beaming Marco. The sound crackled. “ _You make me so proud, son.”_

That was it. He couldn’t take it.

“Marco-” Armin began, but he’d already left the room, the act of holding back tears becoming painful the longer he tried to.

He took refuge in Champ’s stall, the old horse barely looking up as he opened the door. Champ was used to it by now; his stall was Marco’s usual haunt if he didn’t want to be disturbed. He lifted his head as Marco grew near and whinnied quietly. Marco bit his lip, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back his emotion. He couldn’t hold it forever. It was tipping over, and trying to stop it was as much use as trying to block a tidal wave. Sniffling, he took fistfuls of straw-like mane in his grasp and finally let the floodgates burst. His body wracked with sobs as he leant into the gelding, the smell comforting him a little but not enough to stop. The emotion spilled out as he thought back to his father, that strong figure in his life who had just given up one day and left. He’d given up on his wife, and he’d given up on his son. His broken son.

Champ nuzzled him softly, his ears back as he took note of Marco’s sobs. Marco lifted his head and caught the horse’s eye. He smiled weakly. “You should have seen yourself, boy. We were quite the t-team, weren’t we?” he said, running his hand down Champ’s shoulder.

_Yes. You were a good team. You were a good rider. And now look at you, standing in a stall crying into an old horse’s mane. Pathetic._

 “Marco?”

The voice jarred Marco out of his thoughts and cut off his small, quiet sobs. He rubbed his face viciously with his sleeve and muttered a short, “Leave me alone, Jean.”

Jean didn’t leave him alone. He came into the stall. When Marco looked at him, he saw pain. “Marco…” Jean said again. His name was soft on the other boy’s lips.

He sniffled and rubbed his face harder. “Don’t l-look at me, I’m such a baby, getting worked up over n-nothing.” He turned his back on Jean. He couldn’t bear to look at him. He didn’t deserve to. The one person who didn’t look at him with sympathy or malice was probably doing just that. “Are you here to laugh at me?” he demanded.

“No. I’m not here to laugh at you.” He heard Jean take a few more steps forward, and then the warmth of a hand on his shoulder. Jean had his arm around him. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Marco gulped back more tears. “I don’t think I’ve been okay for years,” he said in a small voice. Admitting it made it all the more worse, and he winced at it. “Ever since…” his voice trailed off.

_Ever since that day._

“Marco…” the word was purred into his ear, and sent small shivers through his system. “I think now’s as good a time as any.”

“For what?”

“For telling me about Titan.” Jean was tracing small circles into Marco’s shoulder. “For telling me why you don’t ride anymore.”

“T-there’s nothing wrong with m-me.”

“Bullshit.” Marco flinched at the language. “I saw you watching that film. It looked like you wanted to reach out and touch those people. You miss it so much, everyone can see it. It comes off of you like smoke. Nobody would have given up something they love so much without something happening to them.”

Marco shut his eyes, his breath coming in short wheezes. Crying always did this to him; rendered him unable to breathe or speak very well. Part of him didn’t want to tell Jean anything. Part of him wanted to push him away, to rush up into his room and not talk to him for the rest of the summer. But the stronger part wanted to tell him everything, and it wanted to with all its might. He bit his lip and finally glanced Jean’s way. The other boy was waiting patiently, his expression unreadable as he continued to trace the circles on Marco’s back, but when Marco looked closer he saw the hint of a smile on his lips. He was willing to wait. He deserved to know something, at least.

“I had…” Marco choked on his words and shook his head, “I had an accident. A riding accident, with Titan, when I was sixteen.”

“An accident?” Jean’s brows shot into his hair momentarily. “What sort of accident?”

“I… I don’t want to say… but it messed me up, Jean. It messed me up so badly that I can’t ride anymore. The thought of it scares me so much I get ill. But…” Marco sighed. “But I can’t let it go.”

Jean was quiet for a little while. Marco wasn’t sure whether or not he had managed to upset him in some strange way, and felt the insane urge to apologise. The only noise was Champ shuffling over to his feed bucket, his tail flicking behind him irritably at the appearance of two intruders in his stall. Marco wanted to break the silence, to tell Jean it didn’t matter, but then he was pulled a little closer. “C’mere,” Jean said in a barely stable voice.

“Jea-?”

“Just do it, damnit.”

Marco stepped closer and found himself engulfed in Jean’s arms, the other boy’s grip tight on him, and he froze. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t get hugged often. But when he felt Jean’s face bury itself in his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around the wiry frame in return, a small sigh escaping from his lips. “Jean…” he began.

“No.” The voice was muffled in his shoulder. “I don’t know what happened to you and Titan, but you don’t have to keep saying sorry.” Marco clutched him closer, Jean’s feverish pulse beating against his chest. “And when you feel ready to talk about it, let me know, alright?”

Marco bit his lip and nodded. “I will,” he promised, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Jean heard him. “I could… try to help,” he offered.

“You? Help me ride again?”

Jean snorted weakly as he pulled away. “Don’t sound so shocked. If I can teach those snot-nosed kids how to ride, I can sure as hell get you back in the saddle.”

Marco frowned. “Jean, I… I don’t know.”

“Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity?”

“Psh, dignity’s overrated.” Jean’s grin grew wider. “Don’t you want to ride Titan again? Don’t you want to compete in those competitions again? ‘Cus if you did, I wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“You’ve already done so much for us,” Marco said uncertainly. “Why would you want to help me?”

“Because we’re friends, dumbass. And I have a feeling you need it. You still love Titan, I know you do, and it breaks your heart that you can’t be near him. So at least let me try.”

Marco still wasn’t convinced. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop replaying the scene of the accident in his head over and over. How was he going to get near to a horse he could barely look at? And why was Jean so determined to get him riding again? Jean clearly noticed the indecision Marco was feeling, and added, “if it makes you feel any better, we could make a deal.”

Marco frowned. “What sort of deal?”

“You offered to help me study for my exams. I’ll accept the offer, and in return I help you with Titan and riding. Everyone wins!”

“It feels more like you win twice,” Marco replied, sceptical.

“ _Marco.”_

Marco groaned. He knew he was going to regret this, but the tiny little flicker of hope had grown with Jean’s words, and he was willing to trust it- for now. It was this that drove him to run a hand through his hair awkwardly and reply, “Fine. It’s a deal.”

Jean looked like all of his Christmases had come early, and Marco had no idea why. He immediately had the feeling that he was going to regret the decision he’d just made.


	7. What You're Made Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, as promised, the double update concludes with this!   
> In which Marco faces his fear and starts to feel...things, the dreaded Jean-less Sunday arrives and there are lungeing lessons.
> 
> I used a few technical terms when describing the lungeing, but I think it's self-explanatory! 
> 
> Again guys, comments keep me alive so if you're enjoying it so far, pop me a comment- I won't bite! :)

Regret was the wrong word. Regret implied that Marco didn’t want to be helped. He definitely wanted that. But, standing outside Titan’s stall with Jean beside him, Marco felt the familiar sinking feeling that told him that was going to be tougher than he thought. For once, Titan wasn’t poking his head out of the door; in fact, there was little to be seen of the horse inside. That didn’t make it any easier; Marco’s imagination ran away with him at the best of times, and now all he could think was that Titan was stood there waiting for him. Smoke was practically curling from his nostrils in his mind’s eye. “Jean, you know I said we had a deal…”

“Nuh uh, no backing out now.” Jean half-smiled in his direction. “You promised.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “We’re not six, if I wanna back out I can.”

Jean’s brows raised at the response. “Oh, didn’t you know? A Jean Kirschtein promise is an unbreakable contract.”

“Oh really?”

“Yah. Really. So c’mon, man up and get in the stable.”

Jean had decided that they would start small. After Armin had left amid countless apologies for accidentally upsetting Marco, the pair stayed up in Jean’s room discussing what was going to be done. A better way of putting it was that Jean told Marco what he wanted to do and Marco sat and nodded, but ‘discussing’ sounded far better in his head, he reckoned. Jean’s first idea was that Marco needed to get used to being around Titan again before he had a chance of getting on his back, and though Marco agreed it was easier said than done. Jean’s features softened. “Hey, c’mon, I’ll be right behind you.”

Marco took a step forward, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop them from sweating. “You promise?” he asked. God, he sounded pathetic.

Jean smiled. “Jean Kirschtein promises, remember? Titan won’t hurt you, and once you figure that out and face your fear it won’t be so hard to get riding again.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Marco. Trust me.”

Marco didn’t know why, but he did. Jean’s voice lulled him, and made him feel like he could tackle anything. He inhaled sharply. “Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s do this.”

Jean went ahead of him to slide the bolt back, and Marco tried to keep himself calm. He felt like a runner limbering up before a race; every inch of him was ready to turn tail and run, and yet he was standing perfectly still, waiting. Jean peered into the stall. “Hey, I think he’s asleep. I’ll wake him up.”

“N-no, don’t do that! What if he gets grouchy?”

Jean turned back, an amused look on his face. “If he’s as grouchy as you, maybe I should go in armed.”

Marco blushed furiously. “Sh-shut up.” He walked to the door and took a look himself. Titan was stood up, but his head was hanging low and his eyes were closed, gentle breaths expanding his stomach now and again. He looked so peaceful, Marco thought, and it was that comforting idea that made him slip inside without Jean’s assistance.

Titan looked even larger in the stall, he realised. He towered over Marco with all the raw power he had ready to explode if he wanted it to, yet he snoozed like an old man. Marco inched his way closer, swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise up his throat, and said softly, “Hey big guy, wakey wakey.” Titan’s ears twitched at the noise. “Come on, rise and shine,” Marco said, biting his lip as the ears twitched again. Titan’s yawn showed the yellowing teeth useful only for demolishing grass, and with a sleepy whicker he opened his eyes. Marco stood back, his confidence faltering slightly. “T-there we are, hey handsome,” he gulped. Titan lifted his head up, clearly still groggy from sleep, but once the drowsiness fell away his ears flicked up. He arched his head high and let out a whinny that sounded more like a whistle, digging his hoof into his straw bed as he did so.

“He’s nervous. Sit in the corner, Marco,” Jean said, slipping into the stable himself. “He won’t think of you as invading his space then.” Marco was thankful he had, because he had been about to run for the door. He nodded shakily and moved past Titan as calmly as he could without giving away just how afraid he was. He could feel Titan watching every move he made, the pawing getting louder and more insistent. “Hey, you big silly guy. What’s going on, huh?” Jean cooed, offering his hand for the gelding to get the scent of. Titan’s pawing stopped, his attention diverted on figuring out whether Jean was a friend or not, and Marco sank against the furthest corner away from him, heart beating fit to burst. Titan seemed to deem Jean an acceptable enough companion, for now Jean was stroking his neck, a small smile on his face. “His coat’s so sleek,” he commented.

“Mum likes to groom him. Says it helps her think,” Marco replied. He sighed. “Jean, I don’t see how this is helping. I’m still terrified.”

Jean stopped petting Titan for the moment and looked over at him. “These things take time, Marco. But that’s all we have at the moment, isn’t it?” He smiled and turned back to Titan. “I think you should make this part of a routine or something. Do your chores, then take an hour out to sit in Titan’s stall with him. Bring your sketchbook or something, anything that makes you comfortable, and see. The fear _will_ go: it’s just a matter of letting it. And besides, I don’t think you have anything to worry about on Titan’s end- he’s a massive softie, look at him!” He rubbed Titan’s sensitive nose with his knuckles, and the gelding leaned into the movement, a loud hum rumbling free from his throat. It vibrated throughout his whole body and left Jean looking a little alarmed.

Marco smiled suddenly. “You make him happy.”

“Huh?”

“That noise he’s making. He does that when he’s happy.”

“Really?” Jean chuckled softly. “He sounds like a lawnmower.”

“I always said he sounded like a bee, buzzing away like that,” Marco said, his smile widening when Titan nuzzled into Jean’s jacket, the not-quite-neigh still rumbling around his body.

Jean chuckled and rubbed his knuckles in between Titan’s eyes. The gelding shut his eyes in what could only be described as bliss. “You’re nothing but a big bumblebee, are you? Eh, Bumble?” Titan snorted and butted him again, vying for further attention.

Marco swallowed painfully and ventured a little closer, his hands still shaking. Titan turned his head from Jean and looked at Marco then, his ears flicking forward and a brightness to his eyes. Marco gulped. “Is Jean making you happy? Hmm?” he said, daring to reach out a hand towards him. Titan took a long look at Marco’s trembling hand, and butted his head into it. Marco recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, his jolt making Titan do the same. The horse backed away, one ear falling back as he regarded Marco with suspicion. Marco cursed under his breath. He wasn’t brave enough.

“It’s alright,” Jean said beside him. “You touched him, right?”

Marco sighed. “I touched him at the showgrounds. It’s no big victory.”

“Everything’s a little victory,” Jean shrugged. “Just… do what I said. Sit in the stall with him every day, just for an hour or so, so you get used to him again, and he gets used to you.”

Marco nodded. He didn’t know why he trusted Jean so much. The other boy wasn’t likely to know much more than Marco did about horses and how to take care of them, but he had a strange calming presence that contrasted vividly with the persona he gave off. He really was a caring person, and Marco could see that horses trusted him out of instinct. He knew how to treat them. Maybe he knew how to treat some people, too? “Are you going home tomorrow?” he asked.

Jean sighed. “Unfortunately,” he muttered. He looked like he really meant it; his eyes were shadowed with something Marco couldn’t pinpoint, but it certainly wasn’t eagerness.

“T-that’s good, isn’t it? You’ll get to train?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He gave Marco a look. “Will you be alright with me gone?”

“Of course I wi- oh, you mean the stables!” Marco mentally slapped himself. _Idiot._ “We should be fine, Sundays are slow anyway.”

At this, Titan made to move towards them. Marco couldn’t help it. He bolted to the door. “S-sorry, I’ve had enough!” he said.

“Okay, okay,” Jean said, though there was no laughter in his eyes as he followed him out of the door. “But you’re going to have to be _near_ Titan eventually. That’s a pretty big part of riding him.”

Marco recovered quickly enough to retort, “Har, har, sassmeister extraordinaire,” as he stood outside the stall, trying to catch his breath. The constricting feeling in his chest disappeared far quicker than usual, and he smiled brightly at that. It could be a good day today- or it could be an improvement.

Jean glanced at him over his shoulder before turning back, chuckling as he locked the door behind him. “You’re… ugh, nevermind.”

Marco frowned, conscious all of a sudden. “No, what is it?”

“Just…” Jean’s eyes flickered over him, sizing him up almost. “You have a nice smile. You should use it more often.” He clicked his tongue and looked away, bouncing on his heels out of what could only be seen as awkwardness. Marco stared blankly at him, his face beginning to resemble a strawberry. Jean didn’t stop there. “You’d get all the chicks. O-or all the guys, if you drive on the other side of the road like me.” He grinned at a particle of dust floating in the air, avoiding Marco’s eye as much as he could.

“O-oh,” Marco stammered. “I-I’m not ga- wait, y-you think so?”

“Y-yeah.” Jean let his eyes slide back to Marco- and a blush immediately sprang up. “Aw God no, don’t do that! You’ve got me blushing now, damn you!”

Marco bit his lip shyly. “M-manly men can’t blush.”

 Jean grinned. “Watch it, Freckles.”

As the two set about their chores for the day, along with Jean’s first jumping lesson (which went down incredibly), Marco realised just how much he was going to miss Jean that Sunday.

+++

Sunday was slow, and uncharacteristically hot. Marco would have preferred it if it were busy. Jean had left Saturday evening saying he’d be back by Monday morning, and Marco hated admitting how the distinct lack of Jean about the stables was taking its toll on him. He tried to keep himself as busy as possible, but it proved difficult when the lessons were few and far between. He took the opportunity to wash a few of the horses in the yard, mucked out a few more stalls and only stopped when he passed by Sina’s stall.

The pretty liver chestnut was peering out with bright eyes, nostrils quivering expectantly. Marco stopped short. She was Jean’s horse, but had he seen him ride her properly yet? He couldn’t remember- he didn’t think so. “Hey pretty girl,” he said softly, tickling her sensitive nose with his fingers. She tossed her head at his teasing and snorted, lowering her head for more attention. Marco smiled and trailed his fingers through her copper forelock. “You missing your boy, hmm?” he asked her. She snorted. “Yeah, me too. But don’t tell him that, will you? We don’t want him getting smug.” He smiled and stepped away, eyeing her up and down. He made a mental note to ask Jean if he could turn her out in the paddock next Sunday; she didn’t seem to like being cooped up in the stable all the time. Maybe she was pasture-raised back in Trost.

Before he knew it, he was walking the steps to Titan’s stall. He frowned, stopping dead as he saw the familiar black head bobbing out of the stable door. He realised that he didn’t have to do what Jean asked. He could lie. Marco hated that idea the moment he thought about it; he was a terrible liar, and Jean was trying to help him. He didn’t _need_ to do all this. It was just out of care. Marco exhaled deeply, glancing back at Titan. “Jean Kirschtein, if I die of panic attack I am coming back as a ghost and possessing your ass,” he muttered savagely, before drawing in a deep breath and walking towards the stable door. Titan looked as surprised as he did, and retreated into the depths of his stall as Marco drew back the bolt and opened the door carefully. “H-hey there,” he murmured. “Take it easy. I’m not here to bother you, p-promise.”

Titan raised his head high, eyes locked onto Marco’s form and one ear back. His entire frame quivered. The ripples came in waves upon the giant body, and Marco let out his breath all at once. “Calm down, beautiful boy,” he said, refusing to turn his back on his horse whilst he felt around for the best corner. Titan watched him like a hawk, his prey instinct kicking in as he waited for any kind of strike. His entire form was stiff and on edge, and Marco gulped as his back hit the wall. “Easy…” The gelding only relaxed when Marco slid to the floor, heart racing, but continued to watch him. Marco held the horse’s gaze, feeling like he was part of some bizarre staring contest. At least Titan wasn’t pawing the ground again.

The stall felt very small to him, and it was a little claustrophobic in the presence of such a large horse, but he bit back his inhibitions. _Jean said it would help_ , a voice in his head reminded him, _and he wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger. It’ll be fine._ His breathing slowly got back to normal, and he even managed a weak smile as Titan let out a snort and broke their connection, his eyes now falling onto his haynet. He turned his back on Marco as he pulled at the few chunks hanging loose from the net, and Marco relaxed himself. He hadn’t realised how prepared he was to run until he loosened his muscles. He managed to stay there for forty minutes before Titan decided it was his duty to investigate why Marco was in his stall, and Marco took it as his cue to flee out of the door. _Still_ , he thought as he caught snatches of lost breath on the air, _at least you stayed in there as long as you did._

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. His mother was a little lost without Jean around, he realised, and it amused him how he’d affected them both so much. “This is ridiculous,” he heard her mutter under her breath as she saw to the stove, “it’s not like he’s _my_ son.”

“It’s bound to be weird,” Marco said reasonably. “He’s been around all the time. Not having him here’s a little jarring.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Eleanor frowned. “Was that the door just now?”

Marco paused. Both fell silent, until sure enough… BANG BANG BANG. “I wonder who it is, at this hour!” she said. “We’re not expecting anyone… could you see to it, I can’t leave the stove alone.”

Marco rose to his feet. “Sure.” He made his way down the hall cautiously, wondering who on earth would be calling. It wasn’t like anyone went around from door to door selling stuff anymore, and especially not on a Sunday night. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see- “Jean?”

The other boy was stood in the doorway, bag in hand and a slight scowl on his face. Marco came to realise that it was his default expression. It softened a little once his eyes fell upon Marco. “Hey Freckles, how was today?”

“Er, it was fine… I thought you were meant to be coming back Monday morning?” _Not that I’m not glad to see you I’m really glad to see you actually maybe a little too much oh God really you’re going to go **there** right now with him on the doorstep…_

“Changed my mind. I hope that’s alright?”

Marco grinned. “Nah, sorry. No can do, you’ll have to sleep in the stables for the night.”

Jean’s expression soured. “I’m not in the mood, Marco,” he said. He sounded tired.

Marco’s stomach dropped. “Sorry. Are you okay?” he asked, stepping aside to let him in. Jean stepped into the house- and clutched a hand to his stomach, wincing. “Jean?!”

“M’fine.” Jean gritted his teeth and straightened up again after a moment. “Right as rain.”

Marco frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

Jean’s smile came out more like a grimace. “Humour me, please.”

“You look hurt, I’ll get mum and she can-”

“No!” Jean’s raised voice took Marco by surprise. There was real panic there. “It’s- it’s nothing, honest. I just… fell off my horse today. It’s no big deal.”

Marco’s eyes widened. “No big deal?! Jean, you could be seriously hurt!”

“I’m fine, trust me, Levi looked me over.” Marco didn’t like the way Jean avoided his eye, but sighed. It was hardly fair to expect Jean to tell him everything when he was still keeping things from him. “Just- don’t tell your mum. Can I just- go upstairs and wallow in self-pity for a while?”

“Okay… we’re having dinner at the moment, are you hungry?”

Jean shook his head. “But… Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“When you’re done… can you come keep me company?” Jean’s smile was a little less painful now. “I’d appreciate it.”

Marco smiled, warmth fluttering in the pit of his stomach. “Of course I can.”

Despite feeling guilty about lying, Marco kept Jean’s injury secret from his mother. He made up some excuse about Jean wanting to get back to Sina and wolfed down his meal as quickly as he was able without getting indigestion. Jean was hiding something, and he couldn’t help wanting to find out what it was. Even though Jean had said he wasn’t hungry, Eleanor pushed a bowl of stew into Marco’s hands. “I don’t care if he said he’s not hungry, he’s eating,” she said firmly, and that was the end of the matter.

Jean’s room was humming with noise as Marco opened the door. His eardrums were accosted with Bon Jovi lyrics, and he cringed. Jean was led on his bed when Marco entered the room, but he immediately sat up with a wince. “Oh, don’t move on my account,” Marco said, setting the bowl down on the desk. When Jean eyed it questionably, he added, “Mum wants you to eat. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“That’s alright. I suppose I should try to eat something.” Jean shuffled to the desk and took up the bowl and fork, turning the music down and retreating to his bed afterwards. Marco saw that he tried not to bend too much. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Marco sat on the bed beside him, crossing his legs rather like Jean had. “H-how was today?”

“It was alright. Did my training, managed to see Marlow for a little while…same old,” Jean shrugged.  Marco didn’t know why his stomach dropped at the mention of Jean’s boyfriend, but it did. It was a little weird, but he shook it off quickly enough.

“Hmm.” Marco went quiet for a moment. For a while the only sound was Jon Bon Jovi’s husky wailing about a lost girl of his. Then Marco cleared his throat. Time to be brave. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Jean squinted at him. “Are you gonna bug me about it?”

“I could.”

“I guess I’d deserve that.” Jean sighed. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Freckles. It happened, and that’s all. My stomach’s just a little tender.”

“Is there any bruising? Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” Marco asked urgently, leaning closer to him.

Jean sniggered. “No, _mum_ , it just smarts is all.”

Marco huffed, backing away and folding his arms against his chest. “I’m allowed to worry about you too, you know.”

“I know, but…” Jean trailed off, and took a mouthful of the stew for something to do. Marco watched him with concern. Jean was good at pretending, he realised. He probably had a lot of experience doing it. Whilst Marco was a terrible, transparent liar, Jean might have been able to lie quite easily. Marco wasn’t sure why he was so doubtful, but he just was. Maybe it was for the same reason his stomach dropped at the mention of Marlow. “Can we talk about something else?” Jean asked then. His voice was small, quiet, and it startled Marco a little. It was a far cry from the confident and cocky boy he knew.

“Er… okay, well the lessons went okay today. Hanji nearly scared a kid to death when she caught him using the whip for no reason. I was just doing chores, like usual…”

“What about Titan?”

Marco smiled. “I was in his stall for forty minutes.”

“Not bad.” Jean swallowed his mouthful and added, “he is getting a bit fat though, don’t you think?”

“He is _not_ getting fat!”

“He really is.” He winced as he shifted position on the bed. “But I borrowed some equipment from Levi to try out on him tomorrow, if you’re up for it?”

Marco blinked. “Equipment?”

“Lunge equipment. We have a big eventer and his lunge gear would fit Titan easy.” Jean was eating ravenously now, his appetite suddenly returning as he steadily demolished the stew.

“Does your dad know you have it?”

Jean froze momentarily. Then he resumed eating. “Not ‘xactly.”

“You _stole_ it?!”

“I _borrowed_ , Freckles, there’s a difference. Besides, Titan needs it more.” Jean polished off the stew and set the still-warm bowl down beside him, a groan of satisfaction coming from him. “Shit, that was nice.”

“Titan’s not been lunged before,” Marco said uncertainly. “How do you know he’ll take to it?”

“I don’t,” Jean answered. “It’s worth a shot, though. You’ll have to help, obviously.”

“Me?!”

“Yes, you. Bonding, remember?” Jean stretched then, eyes popping as he pulled the wrong sorts of muscles, and flopped onto his bed. “But first, I feel like a film is in order. Any suggestions? And if you dare suggest anything that’ll make me fucking cry I’ll murder you.”

Marco decided on Donnie Darko (“right little Indie aren’t you Freckles?”) but it caused more grief than he’d expected. Jean was asking questions ten minutes into the film, and Marco explained that it wasn’t exactly the kind of film you could just _understand_. Jean grumbled at that, but Marco didn’t ignore the fact that he scooched a little closer to him. It was kind of hard to, with the blush that sprang up around his ears. The warmth of Jean beside him was so real and so _there_ it was impossible to shrug off. Marco nearly leapt out of his skin when Jean’s head slumped onto his shoulder halfway through. “J-Jean?” he whispered. He got a gravelly snore in reply. His nose wrinkled. “Charming. This is one of my favourite films, you know.”

“Hn, five more minutes dad…” Jean mumbled in his sleep, shifting slightly to press his cheek against Marco’s shoulder instead.

Marco sniggered and patted Jean’s shoulder softly. “Whatever you say.”

That was the last thing he could remember. He awoke the next morning flat out on the sofa with Jean curled into his side, their legs miraculously managing to get tangled together during the night. There was a blanket over them. Marco smiled, admitting to himself that even though this should have warranted a massive panic, this… this was comfortable. It didn’t stop the fateful blush, though. Why wasn’t he panicking? He should have been. He shifted slightly and felt Jean stir, his hands gripping the fabric of Marco’s shirt like a child. His heart did the strange hiccupping thing again.

He looked down at Jean and saw that the other boy looked so peaceful. There was no anger, no default scowl; there was just a calm that Jean rarely showed when conscious. Marco smiled, and dared to brush a few stray chunks of hair away from the other boy’s face. _Yes,_ he mused without a hint of nerves, _he could get used to something like this._

Then Jean’s eyes opened. Marco practically threw himself off the sofa with a yelp of alarm, narrowly avoiding the coffee table with a shout of, “FUCK I’M SO SORRY!” whilst Jean blinked blearily at him from his place on the sofa.

_Oh well_ , Marco thought, cursing as he rubbed his sore head, _it was nice while it lasted._

+++

“Right, are you ready for this?”

Marco looked up from picking out Pegasus’s hooves to see Jean walking towards him with a bright looking Titan bouncing alongside him. “Are you talking to me or Titan?” he asked.

“Oh, har har.”

Jean had fetched the lunge equipment from his car, and had already fitted Titan with the cavesson. It was like a normal bridle, save for the extra padding and the rings used to attach the lunge to. For the moment, he only had the leadrope clipped onto it, and Titan was shaking his head about excitedly. “Eager, isn’t he?” Jean remarked, watching calmly as the gelding began to dance on his toes, shaking his head even more. Marco felt a pang of jealousy when he saw how slack the rope fell between them. Titan may have been eager, but he was a lot more of respectful of Jean than he was of Eren. The two seemed to have struck up a good bond, and Marco wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Upon catching sight of Marco, however, Titan let a guttural neigh loose and picked up his pace, almost dragging Jean over to him. Marco stepped away just in time, a nervous chuckle wriggling free, and Titan stopped obediently, one ear cocked. “See, he knows who his daddy is,” Jean said with a smile, offering the leadrope to Marco. He eyed it worriedly. “Just for a second,” Jean added, “so I can fit the surcingle.”

Marco sighed, but reluctantly did as he was asked. The rope was soft, worn from the years of use, and Marco gripped it firmly whilst trying not to make eye contact with his horse. Titan arched his head and quietened the moment Marco took hold of him, as if he knew how important it was, and Marco bit back a smile.

Jean hadn’t mentioned their sleeping arrangements the night before, and Marco decided he wasn’t going to bring it up either. He didn’t want to make things awkward, after all. Jean didn’t seem that bothered about it, so why should he be? Sometimes guys fall asleep with each other- it happened all the time. _Not every guy wants to cuddle in closer, though,_ a cruel voice in his head hissed. Marco ignored it and watched as Jean placed the surcingle on Titan’s back. Titan curved his head around to look at Jean too, and Marco was sure there was a questioning look on the gelding’s face. Jean glanced at the two of them and laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, either of you. I’m just making sure it’s good and tight.”

Once that was done, Jean moved to grab the lunge line and whip from the boot of his car and returned with a spring in his step, removing the leadrope and replacing it with the line with a flourish. “Okay, we’re all set. C’mon, Freckles.”

“A-are you sure?” Marco said. “I mean, I have got to finish grooming Pegasus and then there’s the mucking out-”

“Marcoooo.” Jean’s eyes narrowed.

Marco huffed. “Fine, fine!”

Titan began to dance again once Jean had hold of him, and nearly bolted into the arena when he realised where he was heading. “Anyone would think he _wanted_ to be worked,” Jean grunted as he wrestled with the giant.

“Well, he doesn’t get much exercise,” Marco admitted shamefully. It was one of the things he felt guilty about. He put the horses first, and it was hard to see Titan wasn’t getting the attention he deserved. It would have been the only thing that would have driven Marco to sell him, but he knew that was never going to happen. He couldn’t let go. _Letting go is a big problem of yours. Get over it._

Marco stood in the centre of the arena with Jean, watching lamely as the other boy fussed over his horse. He showed Titan the lunge whip, and Titan was snuffling it with his nose with great interest. Jean then ran it carefully over the horse’s body, paying particular attention when it reached his hindquarters, but Titan was remarkably unfazed. He twitched at times, but he did little to suggest he even noticed it. Jean smiled. “He’s not afraid of it,” he said. “That’s a good sign. Might even mean he’s been lunged before.”

“You’re not… going to hit him with that, are you?” Marco asked, frowning. Titan may have stood like a lamb at the brush of the whip, but if it was being lashed straight at him, it would be a very different story.

“I’m not a monster!” Jean said, chuckling. “It’s just to encourage him to stretch out his stride. I do this all the time with Sina, it won’t hurt him. Promise.”

Marco nodded, watching as Jean then took the few steps back towards him and the centre of the arena. With a click of his tongue and a gentle flick of the whip at Titan’s heels, they watched as the gelding broke into a jaunty trot, ears rotating like miniature radars for a command. The stride was short and snappy, and Titan was tossing his head at the feel of the cavesson as he stormed around his small circle. “Bit too fast,” Jean muttered to himself, and with a gentle ‘whoa’ they saw Titan slow, his trot becoming lazy and controlled and his neck stretching out into a more horizontal shape than the sharp vertical it had been before. Now Marco was watching properly. Titan was practically floating as he moved, his hooves flicking out from beneath him carefully as he circled them, ears fully forward now. “He _has_ been lunged before”, Jean said with a smile, “He knows what to do.” Marco hadn’t ever seen Titan move so gracefully on the ground before; he could remember how smooth he was to ride, and felt a lump appear in his throat that he had to swallow down painfully. “He moves beautifully,” Jean said, and it was in a hushed tone. It was as though a spell had been cast over them, and it would break if they spoke too loudly.

Marco made a small hum of reply. “I think his father was a Dressage horse.”

He let his eyes land on Jean then, and saw the sheer concentration in the other boy’s face as he turned with Titan, his legs attempting to mimic the giant shadow’s away from him. He was intense in everything he did, Marco realised then. Jean gave everything his all. Or perhaps it was because it involved him.

_Don’t be ridiculous, you’re nothing special, look at you, barely able to keep eye contact with your own horse without it sending you into shakes, why would he give you any sort of special treatment, not like you deserve it…_

“I can tell,” Jean replied, cutting into Marco’s train of thought. Marco was grateful. “You wouldn’t think such a gigantic animal would move that nicely.”

“He moves really well. He has the best canter to sit to, too.” Jean’s eyes flew to him at that, and Marco immediately looked back to Titan, biting his lip.

“You miss it then?” was Jean’s next question.

Marco sighed. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it?”

“Of course I miss it. It was my life.”

“And you want it to be your life again?”

“Yes…”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

Marco frowned. He did. He really did. There was nothing he wanted more, of that he was certain. There was something else, however, something that was niggling in the back of his mind that was pushing rudely to the front. He wanted to ride again- so long as that meant he could ride with Jean. Marco cringed at how lame it sounded, and felt a flurry of butterflies unleash themselves in the pit of his stomach. He frowned again. What was with the butterflies? Was he getting sick?

Jean’s eyes left him then, and clicked softly to Titan. “Let’s bring it up a gear,” he said. With a gentle flick of the whip Titan broke into a canter, his loping strides neat and focused. His height made his strides huge, and Jean was smirking as he continuously turned on the spot. “I see what you mean about the stride. It looks like heaven.”

Marco took a little step closer, biting the inside of his cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to take the lunge line from Jean and try it out for himself. He wasn’t sure if he would have the guts.

Jean appeared to notice. “Do you want to try?” he asked.

Shots of heat fired into Marco’s system. He gulped. “E-er… I wouldn’t mind,” he replied.

Jean smiled warmly at him, and Marco felt like it was a personal achievement. He slowed Titan down so that he was now walking steadily, head hung low and tail flicking behind him. “Stand so you’re always facing him,” Jean instructed, using the hand that held the whip to manoeuvre Marco into position. Marco hated how much he tingled at the contact. _What was wrong with him?_ “You have to make a triangle with him, you, the line and the whip. Just keep moving with him, don’t try to control him. Let him do the work.” Jean looked like he was chewing on something. “H-hold on.” He stepped behind him, and Marco was about to ask what he was doing when he felt the unmistakable form of Jean leaning in close. He lost all breath in his lungs. Jean’s hands were just above his own as he showed him how to keep the line at the right tension, and how to use the whip so it wouldn’t hit Titan or spook him. Marco found it hard to listen. If he glanced along his shoulder he could see Jean’s face, so close and so focused…

_And yet so far away._

Marco didn’t know when the lunge line slipped through Jean’s fingers and found its place clenched in his trembling ones, nor did he notice that Jean didn’t move from his spot behind him. But suddenly, with a jolt, he did. He was moving slowly around on his heel, and Titan was trotting, lengthening out his strides and trying hard _for him._ He felt something break inside him.

And then he was smiling.

He was smiling without even trying.

“A-am I doing it?” he asked, turning to look at Jean.

The other boy was beaming. He hadn’t ever Jean smile like that before, and knowing that he was the cause made his own smile even wider. “You’re doing great, Freckles. You’re doing just great,” Jean said. The thought apparently struck him that he was too close without reason now, and he stepped away, biting his lip as he grinned. But Marco felt the space between them, and frowned as he realised he didn’t want that space to be there at all.

They changed Titan’s direction after that, Jean explaining that he needed to be worked in both for it to be beneficial, and this time Marco did it all on his own. Jean admitted later that he’d never seen someone pick up lungeing so easily, and all Marco could do was smile modestly.

Because he realised that if it meant Jean being so close again, he’d happily pretend to be terrible at it.


	8. A picture with a broken frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woop, here's the update guys! In which we learn about how Titan came to be, a little bit of Jean's family history, and just how horrified Marco is when he realises he's falling for the little dork. 
> 
> Also 'The NeverEnding Story'. Cus that film scarred me as a kid and always will. :D
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, and I'll always respond- I feed off of comment energy *mwahaha* 
> 
> Enjoy!

Falling in love with someone was strange, Marco realised. When he was a child, he’d expected so much from it. Armin had crushed on people beforehe had, and he’d begged to be told what it was like. Armin had said it was like something had come down and zapped him with fumbling words and sweaty palms and there was nothing he could do about it. Marco had expected something similar. He expected it to suddenly hit him, like a cannon ball barrelling into his stomach and leaving him winded, but it wasn’t like that at all. It was a slow, small thing that snuck up on him when he was looking the other way. It was a shadow spying on him and slipping an inch closer in a moment of weakness- and what scared him was that when he let his guard down he was fine with it.

But what scared him more than ever was Jean finding out.

It wasn’t that he thought Jean would do anything bad- he was past that paranoia now- but it was more about what he _wouldn’t_ do that worried him. He wouldn’t welcome him with open arms, he was sure of that. He wouldn’t grin and tell him it was alright, that he wanted him too and that they could spend all their time together forever and ever amen. Nope. There was no chance of that. Because Jean was Jean, and Marco was Marco, and that should have been enough. Marco was not gay, for starters. And more importantly, Jean had Marlow.

He saw him every Sunday, from what he told Marco, and though he didn’t talk about him much Marco could tell that Jean adored him. The way he lit up like a lightbulb when he did talk about him was enough. Marco often wished he would look that way about him, and then gave himself a firm mental beating.

_Jean wouldn’t want you, look at you, you’re a disaster waiting to happen. You’re lucky you have his friendship, isn’t that enough for you? Why do you need more?_

The worst thing was, Marco began to believe it.

So he quashed the feelings as best he could, only letting them roam freely when he was alone in his room. He could lie in the dark and pretend his hands were Jean’s, and for a second he would really, truly believe it. But once his muscles went slack and the warm cloud of pleasure melted away, the guilt would set in. And the fear. And the cycle would repeat itself over and over again.

The other time he would let himself relax was when he sat in Titan’s stall. After a few shaky starts, he was becoming comfortable in the presence of his horse, and had taken to bringing his sketchbook with him to doodle Titan. The pages were filled with little five minute sketches of him: his profile, his neat hocks, the sleek shoulders. What was embarrassing was that the rest of the pages were quickly becoming filled with Jeans. From memory, most of the time, but sometimes Marco could sneak a glance at him if he happened to walk past the stall. None of the graphite Jeans were perfect. None of them could give Marco that calculating gaze, or the smirk that sent his stomach churning. But they were the next best thing.

Marco was sketching a new addition to the Jean clones when the real one popped his head into the stall. “Oi, Marco!” he called.

Marco nearly dropped his sketchbook. Titan neighed in greeting at his new visitor, and snuffed Jean’s hair playfully. This gave Marco enough time to shut his sketchbook and clutch it tightly to his chest like a frightened schoolgirl before Jean could get inside, shooing Titan back to his haynet. “Hey Jean!” Marco replied, the smile he gave a genuine one. He couldn’t help it; Jean just made him want to smile. Smiling wasn’t a crime. Smiling was friendly.

“I see you ladies are getting on.” Jean’s smile mirrored Marco’s as he looked between Marco and Titan.

“Like a house on fire,” Marco agreed, opting to stick his pencil behind his ear for safekeeping. “Are your lessons done?”

“Yeah. Twelve year old girls are a nightmare.” Jean slumped against the side of the stall, a short huff escaping him.

“I did warn you. The sea of raging hormones is terrifying and unforgiving.”

“You got that right.”

Marco grinned. “Y-you should tell them, you know.”

Jean looked at him oddly. “Tell them what?”

“That you’re gay as a maypole.”

Jean laughed. “You’re joking, aren’t you? I can barely admit it to my father, what makes you think I can admit it to total strangers?”

Marco blinked. “Well, you just seemed so open about it with me…”

“Yeah, well. You’re different.”

“I-I am?” _Oh God, here came the blush. God damnit, Bodt._

“Yep.” Jean popped the ‘p’ with his lips, causing Titan to look his way curiously. “Anyway, enough about my oh-so-interesting sexuality, I wondered if you wanted to go somewhere.”

Marco stared up at him. It was a slow day today, as Hanji had fallen ill and Eleanor had chosen to cancel some of the lessons instead of letting Jean take the strain of them all, and they rarely had time to spare until the evening. It gave him a strange sense of freedom he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Where are you suggesting?”

“I thought you could help me there. I don’t know anywhere around here.” Jean looked thoughtful. “I could try to drive us somewhere…”

“I wouldn’t bother. It’s market day today, the roads are going to be packed with people. You won’t have a chance driving anything.” Marco struggled to his feet, wincing as the familiar pain shot up his leg. “To get anywhere, you’d really need to ride…” He regretted the words immediately. Jean’s expression said it all. He was smirking down at him, and Marco could swear his eyebrows were wiggling. “Oh no, no, no, no. I can’t. I’m not ready,” he protested.

“It’s been a month already! We only have two more left,” Jean replied. “You’re doing so well with the lungeing too!”

“No, Jean.”

Jean let out a groan of frustration. “Fiiiine. I’ll let you off the hook this time. But soon.”

“Jean-”

“ ** _Soon._** ” Jean said it so menacingly Marco had to stop himself from spluttering into laughter. Jean’s brows pinched together. “You dare to mock me, mortal?”

Marco did laugh then, snorting and spluttering in a less than elegant way. “You’re such a dweeb,” he managed to get out.

“Shut up, you love it.”

Marco nearly choked on his laughter. _You’ve hit the nail on the head there. I love it. I love it so much. I want you to be **my** dweeb. _“In your dreams.”

Jean sniggered. “The lady doth protest too much. Anyway! Come on, Freckles, places to go.”

“Well…” Marco thought hard. Nothing was coming to mind. The beach would have been nice to go to, if it wasn’t so far away. The market could be… interesting… but he doubted Jean would be that enthralled by the local banter. Then a sweet little blonde popped into his head. “…we could go visit Armin? He’s living in the village at the moment.”

Jean’s grin was infectious. “Sounds like a plan. Do you think I could ride Sina there? She needs exercise.”

“I don’t see why not. Jinae’s made for horses, if you hadn’t figured that out already.”

“Sweet. I’ll meet you in the yard in ten?” Jean then paused. “Will you be okay walking that far?”

Marco bristled, a shard of shock shooting straight to his leg. “O-of course I’ll be okay walking, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. His voice was a little too high.

Jean gave him an unimpressed look. “Really, Marco? You think I’m dumb enough not to notice your leg hurts you?”

Marco bit his lip and looked away, swallowing painfully as he shifted his weight. He hadn’t known. But, then again, Jean had been around him for long enough now; he was bound to notice it at some point. That didn’t help the great wave of self-consciousness that crashed over him. “Sorry. I just… thought I could hide it better.”

He heard Jean scoff. “You don’t have to hide it from me. It’s fine. I just want to know if you’ll be okay for the walk.”

Marco turned back. There Jean went again, caring about him like he was worth something. He smiled. “I should be fine. If it gets too bad, I can always catch the bus back. That’s the only thing that can get through the village on market day.”

“Great! Alright, I’ll go tack Sina up.” And with that, Jean left.

Marco glanced at Titan and shared the horse’s slightly startled look. “I know, big guy,” he said, laying a steady hand on his shoulder and scratching him there, “I don’t know why he bothers with me, either.”

+++

The walk to Armin’s was a nice one. It was mainly comprised of dirt paths and gentle slopes that Marco could just about manage without sending jolts through his body, and the sun was uncharacteristically high in the sky when they set off. Sina was a handful for a little while; Jean hadn’t been riding her as regularly as he normally would, and it meant she was a vessel of pent-up energy. She danced on her toes and fought the bit agitatedly, ears back as Jean’s hands kept their tight grip on the reins. Marco gave them a wide berth. “You should ride her out more often,” he pointed out after the third attempt from Sina to bolt into a canter.

Jean reined her back with a curse and looked down to Marco. “I try my best, but I don’t know what places are horse-friendly and which places aren’t. I wouldn’t want to risk it.” At this, Sina yanked her head up and bunnyhopped, nearly unseating Jean in the process. “Damnit Sina, calm down!” he snapped, giving her a sharp half-halt. She quietened, albeit reluctantly, and blew through her nose in disgust. “She’s a nightmare sometimes,” he tutted. “I think she got kicked as a weanling and a bit of her brain got knocked loose.”

“That’s not fair!” Marco laughed, laying a hand on Sina’s flank. The flesh twitched where he touched it, but a smooth pat alerted Sina to his presence. “I think she’s lovely. Where did you get her?”

“From a stud farm just outside of Trost. We get a lot of our horses from there. The farm’s known for breeding good sport horses. She was only broken in last spring, so she’s still finding her footing. Still a baby.” He gave her an absent pat to reward her for walking quietly, and then asked, “What about Titan? Where did he come from?”

“O-oh, well we got him from a little place north of here called Shiganshina. My Dad… he was a vet, a-and he had a friend who specialised in breeding horses for the cavalry and the police there. I went with him to look over some of the pregnant mares and we found Titan.” Marco frowned. The memory of his father was a painful one, but not as painful as usual. He felt Jean’s eyes on him, questioning, and ploughed on. “H-he’d got out of his paddock. I don’t know how, the fences were so high, but everyone was convinced he’d jumped them. There were all these grooms trying to catch him, but he kept dodging and weaving around them like they were playing some kind of game. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, and Dad could see that. His friend said Titan would never be disciplined enough to be a police horse, so Dad offered to buy him for me when he got broken in an trained. And, well, the rest is history I guess.”

Jean frowned. “You said his father was a Dressage horse?”

Marco chuckled. “Oh, yeah, well… Titan wasn’t really _intentionally_ bred. His sire jumped a fence, apparently.”

Jean grinned. “Sly dog.” His face then fell. “Why don’t you ever talk about your father?”

Marco flinched. He’d known that was coming, yet it still hit him like a punch to the gut. He sighed. “He left my mum. Two years ago.” He had to clench his jaw to stop himself from saying more. Saying that, maybe, it was because of him. Because he was faulty and needed replacing. Because his father couldn’t stand to see his only son withdraw into his shell…

Jean frowned. “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was long ago, and we’re doing alright.” Marco paused. “Wh-what about your mother?”

Jean stiffened. “What about her?”

“Well, you never talk about her. Are your parents separated too?” He blushed when he realised how blunt it sounded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, and I don’t mean to pry, I just-”

“Yeah.”

Marco blinked, wrong-footed. “Huh?”

“I mean, yeah, they are separated.” Jean let his reins slide through his fingers to give Sina her head. “Since I was seven.”

“Oh…”

“I can’t remember why. I don’t think I want to, if I’m honest- it was a messy split. I guess some people just grow to hate each other.” He frowned as Sina tossed her head, snatching some of the reins out of his reins. He cursed. “I’m gonna let her trot for a little while. I’ll come back.” Jean nudged the mare with his heels and she sprang into a bouncy trot, her pace taking Jean away from Marco at a surprising speed.

Marco stared after them sombrely. How tactless could one person be? Marco surprised himself with how bad he was at it. Running a hand through his hair, he kept up a steady pace, and hoped that Jean didn’t hate him too much. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but sometimes things just came out that way. He hoped Jean understood.

Jean returned a few minutes later, and to Marco’s relief he was smiling. He'd had no reason to panic, he knew that now, but it still proved hard to ignore that niggling feeling in the back of his mind. “That’s better,” Jean said, turning Sina around to fall in place beside Marco again. She blew through her nose and lowered her head, her energy sated for the moment. “She was driving me mad. Sorry about that.”

“O-oh, it’s alright!” Marco directed them to the left, and the dirt began to even out into paving slabs. Soon it was gone entirely.

They came out on the outskirts of a bustling square, the noise of the townspeople buzzing around them like worker bees. Market day was a tradition of Jinae’s that never went ignored, and in its 200 years there had only been two cancellations- and once was due to plague. The whole village swelled with it, the colours and sounds so much a part of life there that it hardly went noticed anymore. Marco could pick out the stalls he knew the best from where he stood; the fruit cart was laden with apples from the nearby orchards, and oranges and lemons from the groves a little further away. There was a butchers, with gleaming red meat hanging by hooks behind the gigantic man brandishing knives that seemed comically big, his booming voice beating many other vendors’ by far. He also knew there was a bakers, somewhere, though that was lost to him. What he honed in on was the small pen full of livestock, and the giant Shire horses that stood docilely by in the background.

“Wow, you were right, this place does get busy,” he heard Jean comment. “I thought it was a tourist thing.”

Marco shook his head. “Nope, it just happens every week like this. I used to love coming here when I was little.”

“Maybe we could come here some time. If you want.”

Marco turned back to Jean properly then, and smiled. “Really? You’d want to?”

Jean nodded. “It looks cool. Besides, by the way you’re grinning there’s gotta be something to like, right?”  

Marco blushed. “Shut up. We should stick to the outskirts, though- I don’t know how Sina would react to all the noise.” The mare looked pretty unfazed at the moment, barely shifting as she waited for the instruction to go forward, but Marco knew how unpredictable horses were, and how something could change in their minds in an instant. His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket, and he read the message quickly enough. “Armin’s staying in a guest house just up the hill. He’s waiting outside.”

“Lead on, then.”

The hill was hard on Marco’s leg. It began to ache halfway up, and Marco set his teeth against the pain. He couldn’t show Jean how much it hurt. He had to keep going. The only notion that he was in pain was the fact he slowed down, but Jean didn’t seem to notice. He just slowed Sina to match. Marco was grateful, and showed it with a smile that Jean sheepishly returned.

The guest house was a small renovated cottage, and out of sight of the main streets. It was a soft yellow colour with a thatched roof and a large front garden, and it was here Armin sat cross-legged in the grass, book in lap and reading feverishly. Marco smiled. Armin digested books like they were gourmet meals, and his appetite was huge. The blonde boy looked up at the sound of hooves, and his face lit up. “Marco, Jean! Hey.” He rose to his feet stiffly, and Marco realised he’d been sat there a while. “It’s nice to see you both. How are things up at the stables?”

“They’re good,” Marco smiled. He wasn’t sure he could admit _just_ how good things were going- maybe when Jean was out of earshot. “And the bookshop?”

“Same as ever.” Armin glanced over to Jean. “Jinae’s quite a change from Trost, isn’t it?”

Jean shrugged from his place atop Sina. “Yeah, but I kinda like it. Trost’s so busy all the time.”

“That’s true. Do you want to come inside? I bought lunch.” Armin motioned indoors.

Jean grinned, dismounting from Sina in a heartbeat. “You bought us lunch? How quaint of you, Armin.”

Armin brushed the remark aside, though he rather hotly replied, “you can tether Sina to one of the posts for now. The paddock fence broke last week and I haven’t been able to fix it yet.”

Jean made a face, earning a playful whack from Marco, and led Sina forwards. Marco went on indoors, Armin already chattering away like a songbird.

The interior of the guest house was even more old fashioned. Oak furniture seemed to dominate any space it could, and even the rafters were visible above their heads. “Dad paid the rent for a little while,” Armin explained as Marco walked further in. “Most of my wages go into the rent for this place now. He tries to help out, sometimes.” Armin’s brow furrowed when Marco took another step on his aching leg and failed to bite back the wince. “Are you alright?”

“M’fine.” Armin immediately fetched him a chair and Marco sank into it gratefully. “I just think I pushed it too hard.”

“Why, I thought you met Jean he-” Armin’s frown deepened. “You didn’t walk all the way, did you?”

Marco grinned innocently. “If I say no, will you be less mad?”

“Marco! You could seriously hurt yourself if you push it like that!” Armin chided, stalking into the kitchen. Luckily for Marco it was open plan, so he could see the top of the other boy’s head bobbing amongst the food and knives. “If your mum found out-”

“Oh God, Armin, _please_ don’t tell my mum!” Marco groaned, putting his face in his hands. “That’s the worst threat you could ever make!”

“Why did you do it, then?” Armin asked.

The silence that fell between them seemed to answer the question thoroughly enough.

Armin sighed and made his way back to the table, setting down a loaf of bread and things to make sandwiches. “Jean’s really rubbing off on you, isn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Armin said, smiling as he beckoned Marco closer, “he doesn’t listen to what others have to say, either. And trust me, that usually calls for stupid situations that could be avoided.”

“Like the fact he fell off his horse last Sunday at training?” Marco asked.

Armin paused. He frowned. “Jean didn’t fall off,” he replied.

Marco blinked. “He didn’t?”

“No. No one fell off.” Armin’s frown deepened. “Why, did he tell you he did?”

“Well, he came back to ours Sunday evening, and he… he looked like he was in pain…” Marco’s words trailed off. He felt like it was a private matter, something he shouldn't discuss with Armin, but Jean was a friend of both of them; he wasn’t doing anything wrong by confiding in him.

Armin was quiet for a moment, focusing instead on slicing the bread. But after he set the knife down he said, “Marco, I have to warn you about Jean.”

Marco blinked. “Warn me? What about?”

“Nothing bad!” Armin said immediately, the look on Marco’s face enough. “He… he means well, but he is known for being a compulsive liar. And, well, I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea about him. When Jean lies, it’s usually for a good reason.”

_A good reason? What sort of reason is there to lie about something like that?_  

Marco was still thinking about it when Jean walked through the door, slinging Sina’s saddle onto the nearest chair with a grunt. “God, can that mare sweat. She needs a hose down when we get back, Marco,” he muttered.

Armin’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the saddle. “Did you just put that sweaty, dusty saddle on my chair?” he asked.

“Geez sorry mother hubbard, I’m sure you can handle it.” Jean grinned and ruffled Armin’s hair in a playful way as he took a seat next to Marco. “What are you two girls gossiping about?”

“Nothing.” Marco’s reply was a bit too quick, causing Jean to arch an eyebrow, but he was saved by the food Armin shoved under Jean’s nose. “J-just trying to figure out what I wanted to eat,” Marco said, chuckling weakly. The narrowed gaze he got in return suggested Jean didn’t believe him, but the food commanded his immediate attention.

The conversation was picked up easily after that, but Marco couldn’t quite meet Jean’s eye for the rest of the time spent with Armin. All he could find in his head was a single harsh word emblazoned there.

_Liar. Liar, liar, liar._

+++

“So, what dramatic flaw does Lear have?”

“He didn’t get laid enough.”

“Jean, are you going to be serious?”

Jean whined and buried his head in his blankets. After getting back from Armin’s, Marco took up his side of the bargain and dragged Jean to his bedroom. Unfortunately, it was to look over books and notes. Marco wasn’t the best teacher, and Jean was the _worst_ kind of student. “Why did you even pick English if you don’t like it?” Marco complained as Jean continued to whine into his bedsheets.

“It’s compulsory until next year. And I _do_ like it, just not… this,” Jean defended, his voice slightly muffled. Marco had to resist reaching out and running his hands through the unruly hair. “I mean, who the hell cares what Lear’s dramatic flaw is? He fucking _died,_ I think that’s a pretty big flaw as a character.”

“But why did he die?” Marco hummed.

Jean gave him a withering look, and sat up, hair sticking up in every direction from his mini-strop. “Because he trusted the wrong people,” he answered.

“Yeah, and that’s because…?”

Jean frowned. “He didn’t value Cordelia enough. She was the nicest daughter he had, and he rejected her because she wouldn’t take part in the stupid contest because she thought he’d know how much he meant to her. Fucking prick.”

Marco blinked. “Woah, I didn’t realise you hated Lear that much.”

“Well, he was! He got into the whole mess because he tried to rank his kids,” Jean spat. “That’s just wrong. You shouldn’t do that. Every kid you have should be equal, shouldn’t they?”

Marco realised that they weren’t talking about _King Lear_ anymore. He set the book down and gave Jean his full attention. “Well, yeah they should. But sometimes, I guess some parents don’t see it that way,” he said.

Jean moved some of the papers littering his bed aside and shuffled closer to Marco so that their bodies were touching. Marco jolted at that, but covered it up with a stretch. _So casual, you loser._ “I wish I had your mum,” Jean muttered. It was barely audible, but Marco heard it. Jean stumbled over the next few words. “I mean, she’s so nice and crazy and there for you… she’s what a mum should be like. Not some person who abandons their kid and fucks off somewhere else without so much as a ‘goodbye’.”

Marco frowned. “Jean… I might not know anything about your family, but if I could give you a good mother I would.” Jean looked away at that. Marco bit his lip. “Look,” he said, turning his whole body around, legs and all, “there are ways of finding her. You could do it, if you wanted to.”

“What’s the point?” Jean asked. He sounded bitter. “If she gave a damn she’d have contacted me before. I mean, I was _seven_ , Marco. How the fuck can a seven year old understand why his mum’s vanished?”

“I suppose you blame yourself.”

Marco’s mouth snapped shut. He knew it had sounded too bitter, too understanding, and Jean had heard it. Jean’s eyes found his again. The amber was burning. “Do _you_ blame yourself for your dad leaving?” he asked.

Marco sighed. He had been waiting for that question. A hand wandered up to play with the back of his hair nervously as he replied, “Of course I did. I still do.”

“Why would he leave because of you?” Jean said in a hushed voice. “I mean, you’re amazing.”

Jean’s words sent warmth travelling through Marco that he couldn’t shake, not even when it settled on his cheeks. It was unexpected, but definitely not unwanted. He gulped. “J-Jean, I’m not… I mean, I don’t…”

“I was right the first time I met you. You’re too modest.” Jean’s smile was soft, gentle, and Marco was sure he hadn’t seen it before. “You’re great. You’re such a good person, Marco. And I know that sounds weird, seeing as I’ve not spent that much time with you, but… if I can see having only been here a few weeks, it must be obvious to everyone else.” He was babbling again, and Marco realised he did it when he got nervous. But he couldn’t find it in his heart to stop him. Selfishly, he needed that warm feeling nestled in his chest. He needed to cup it in his hands and keep it safe- if only for a moment. “A-Anyone who denies an invitation to be around you is an idiot. So maybe your dad’s an idiot. Wait, no, I didn’t mean that, I-”

“S-stop.” Marco leaned forward. “Stop, before you hurt yourself.”

Jean smirked weakly. “I think I owe you one for that. Or else I could’ve said all manner of crap.”

_Like how much you like me? About how much you want to be with me, and how you want to take me places and kiss me all the time and- wait, kiss me all the time?_ Marco inwardly groaned at how pathetic his mind was. “F-for the record,” he said, casting his gaze back to Jean’s, “you’re a pretty amazing person, too.”

Jean scoffed sceptically. “Like Hell I am.”

“I mean it!” Marco’s ferocity even startled himself. “You’re kind and caring and the kids love you. And you’re doing _so_ much for us… for me.” Marco shrugged in order to hide the nervous tremors that were coursing through him. He couldn’t hold that amber gaze any longer. “I don’t think I know someone who has as much passion for things as you do. So yes, you’re amazing too.” When he looked back, he saw that Jean was a little pink. And then he realised that he had, at some point, covered Jean’s hand with his own.  He drew it away like it was venomous, his heart leaping into his throat. “S-sorry…” he mumbled. “M-maybe we should stop for today. We can pick it up again tomorrow. Getting a bit too… deep.” _Deep was right. You’re getting in way too deep, and with a guy who has a boyfriend. How bad do you want to come off?_

Jean nodded, his expression unreadable. “Maybe, yeah.”

Marco expected the awkwardness to linger like a poison cloud, to shelve a divide between them and leave him spluttering in the deep end. But none of these things happened. If anything, it had brought them closer. That night, Jean huddled closer to Marco when they watched _The Never-Ending Story_ (Jean’s suggestion), and even dared to bury his face in Marco’s shoulder at one point. Marco glanced down to see Jean’s own shoulders trying not to shake. “Are you crying?” Marco asked, juggling both amusement and embarrassment as he poked the other boy.

“N-no.”

Marco grinned. “Oh, I think you are.”

Jean sniffled. “The horse fucking _died_ , dude. Of **_sadness._** How do you expect me not to cry at this fucked up shit?”

Marco chuckled, and shifted to put an arm around him. It didn’t feel weird, which was worrying. “I always wanted a pony called Artax,” he said, patting Jean’s shoulder lightly.

“Sadistic bastard. That’s just asking for trouble.”

“I’m not the one who chose to watch this,” Marco pointed out.

Jean flushed. “Well, I forgot about the swamp of motherfucking sadness, alright?!”

Marco smirked at him. “We could put on Black Beauty. I mean, I know how much you love that film…” He managed to avoid the pillow that hurtled straight at him through spluttering laughter, and hit Jean with it in retaliation.

“Oh, are we doing this?” Jean demanded with a wolfish grin. Before Marco could protest, Jean had rolled away and armed himself with another pillow. “Bring it on, Freckles!”

Marco laughed. “You’re an idiot,” he stated, before getting promptly smacked in the face by Jean’s pillow of choice.

“Yep! C’mon Bodt, give me something to boast about when I win!”

Marco rolled his eyes, but immediately launched himself at Jean, beating him back with the pillow. Jean let out a yelp of surprise and rolled away to avoid the onslaught, throwing in a few half hazard hits of his own that barely got close. “This…isn’t…fair…” he said between hits, “You’re an only child, you’re not meant to know how to pillow fight!”

Marco grinned and hit Jean again, this time on his backside as he tried to retreat. “I had sleepovers,” he replied.

“Oho, it’s gonna be like that is it?” Jean darted away to hit Marco’s rear in return. Marco dodged, but was ashamed of how much he blushed. Jean didn’t seem pleased at the miss. “I’m gonna beat that ass of yours!” he hissed, and sprang at him. Marco let a girlish squeak and ducked, grabbing Jean around the waist and throwing himself onto the sofa, a loudly squawking Jean in tow. He could feel the pillow raining down on his back amid Jean’s protests, and all he could do was laugh and keep his grip tight on the other boy. “Marco, let go!” Jean demanded, but Marco’s laughter was infecting him. Marco could feel the laughter shaking in Jean’s stomach, and glanced up at him.

“Make me.”

“Marco! Please!” Jean managed to get out through his laughter.

“Did I win?” Marco asked innocently.

Jean frowned, but upon trying to squirm free realised it was nigh-on impossible. He huffed. “Fine! Fine, yes, you win, you nerd.”

Marco smiled. “Promise?”

“Yes, yes! Leggo!” Jean sniggered, batting him away.

Marco retreated, still laughing, and flopped onto the sofa more comfortably. The warm feeling returned when Jean did, propping his chin on Marco’s shoulder and letting a strangled yawn escape him. Marco had to fight hard not to put an arm around him to pull him closer. _You are friends with Jean_ , he kept reminding himself. _Friends. That’s it. Friends friends friends. Do not mess this up._

They both ended up falling asleep together again, blanket pulled over them for extra warmth and their breath mingling in the air above them. Marco was too proud to admit that he snuggled that little bit closer to Jean, and remained awake for just a little longer to savour the feel of the other boy against him.

_Yep. You are totally fucked._


	9. Wipe Your Hands, Shake It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo new chapter! :D
> 
> I like this one lots. It's full of frustrating moments, so just watch out there! This chapter has Eren and Jean clashing for the first time (and probably not the last), more Marco and Eleanor bonding, and a heeeeck of a lot of sweetness. We also find out a li'l bit more about the illusive boyfriend...
> 
> But Marco's not gay. He swears.
> 
> Enjoy, and feel free to leave me a comment! I live for comments! :D x

Jean didn’t mention falling asleep again. Neither did Marco. Oddly, it didn’t seem like it needed to be explained away; the two just got on with their respective jobs and thought nothing of it. There was no awkwardness, no shame, no nothing. _After all_ , Marco thought, _how could you get awkward about something that made you so comfortable in the first place?_ However, the feel of Jean’s body against Marco’s was a warmth that never really went away. It lay dormant for a while, sleeping so soundly that Marco would foolishly believe it was gone for good, and then it would awaken with a vengeance. A smile, a compliment, their hands accidently brushing: all of these would spark the kiln in the midst of Marco’s stomach and reduced him to a blushing, gibbering mess. Thankfully, he was usually out of sight before that happened. Marco had places he could escape to. But the longer Jean stayed at the stables, the smaller the number of safety points for Marco. It wasn’t that Jean intruded on his privacy at all; Marco welcomed him to them, all smiles and relief, and then kicked himself days later when he realised it was one less spot to be alone.

Even his haven in Titan’s stall was compromised. When Jean got the chance, he would sit with Marco and talk, and it soon became a haven for the both of them. Jean could talk for hours about anything, Marco knew, but these ‘Titan stall talks’ were different. Jean would slip into the stall with the same half-smiling glint in his eyes, but it would soon soften on sighting Marco sat against the wall in the cleanest straw he could find, and he would sit beside him without a moment’s hesitation and talk about something he never had before- his family life.

He talked about his absent mother, his siblings (two brothers and one obnoxious sister, according to him- all had flown the nest now, leaving him pretty much an only child) and how he’d always felt out of the loop. “I dunno,” he said the first time the topic cropped up, face creasing into a frown, “I guess I just always felt like the odd one out. I didn’t want to be successful like my siblings are. I didn’t want to be a lawyer or a doctor or a vet- I just wanted to ride horses. There was never anything else in my head. And now Dad wants me to either be the best at riding horses or try something else. He doesn’t understand that I just want to be _around_ them. I don’t want to win anything- not really.”

“I know you must think I’m such a spoilt, ungrateful brat,” Jean said that day, “but I’d give it up. All of it. So long as I was happy.”

“Aren’t you happy?” Marco asked.

“Well,” Jean mumbled, reddening as he said it, “I am at the moment.”

Marco smiled. “Sat in a stable that needs a good clean? Maybe you do have problems.”

“You know what I mean!”

He didn’t even have to say it. Marco knew. Marco ached over it. It wasn’t fair: he didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t choose to harbour that warm feeling in his chest like it would break if he moved too quickly, but he just couldn’t help himself. He was his own worst enemy in more ways than one, it seemed.

He realised just how much of an idiot he could be to himself a few days later. Jean had been riding Sina in the arena, and Marco was preparing Titan for a quick lunge session before the over-16s arrived for their Saturday lesson. His time in the stable had worked wonders, and though he was still a little shaky around the giant gelding he was definitely better. Titan was stood quiet as Marco fumbled with his brushing boots, a bright red pair bought for Marco’s sixteenth birthday, and barely twitched when Marco straightened up to fit the surcingle around his middle. Marco’s eyes flickered up when Titan let out a loud whinny, and saw that his horse’s gaze was fixed on the figure of Jean and Sina. “Hey, don’t go distracting her,” Marco chided, bringing a sugared almond from his pocket and offering it to him. Sugared almonds were a favourite treat of Titan’s, and Marco immediately felt the velvet lips nuzzling his palm, nostrils quivering excitedly. “She doesn’t want an oaf like you flirting with her.”

He looked at the pair despite himself, and marvelled at how well Jean controlled Sina. The mare was clearly the headstrong type, but Jean was getting her to work like a schoolmaster. They were cantering around some strategically placed blocks to practice her manoeuvrability, Jean had told Marco, and Sina seemed to be doing well. Jean moved with her, Marco noticed, even when working on the flat. His hips- _god, stop looking at them you pervert!-_ were rocking in a perfect motion with Sina’s choppy stride, and his hands seemed to follow through to the movement of her neck. The two of them looked like parts of a whole, and moved with such unity it was hard to know where Jean ended and Sina began. They were hypnotising to watch.

Jean then let a soft ‘woah’ loose from his lips and coaxed Sina back into a trot, then a walk, before finally hopping off her back and heading towards Marco, his mare following like an obedient puppy. “We’re all done. You can go lunge Titan now,” he said, grabbing Sina’s reins as her hooves clattered onto the yard. “You want any help?”

“I might be okay,” Marco replied, clipping the lunge line onto Titan’s bridle as he talked. “You looked good just now.”

“I did?” Jean smirked.

“W-well, I meant you and Sina!” Marco gabbled. “You work really well together. You two, you’re… you’re a good team.”

Jean’s smirk widened. “You really think so?” he asked. He sounded pleased, and Marco smiled knowingly. One thing he had learnt by now was that Jean lived off of praise. He practically devoured it.

“Definitely. You have a great bond with her.” Marco gave Sina a gentle pat before leading Titan forward, partly to stop himself from talking and accidentally telling Jean how good his hips were ( _posture! It’s posture! You admire his POSTURE damnit Bodt sort your life out)_ and partly due to Titan’s growing eagerness to be in the arena.

Once in, Marco sent Titan off on the right rein, his eyes never leaving the half-floating form. Titan was already benefitting from the workouts; Marco hated to admit it, but the horse had slimmed down considerably, and even his coat seemed to ripple with good condition. He’d also begun to pick up his feet more, something he’d always had a problem with. His eye was always on Marco, complete trust filling his giant frame, and Marco couldn’t refrain from smiling.

“He’s looking great!” he heard Jean call from the fence a few minutes later, and he flushed with pleasure.

“He’s improving!” he called back, eyes not leaving Titan as he gave a little click with his tongue to encourage him into a thundering canter.

He was too focused on Titan to hear anything going on in the yard beyond. It was like he was in his own private bubble, just him and Titan, and nothing could break its surface. But then something did.

“Holy shit, is that _Marco?”_ he heard someone screech.

“Is that- TITAN?”

“Did I whack my head so hard this morning I woke up in the past?” Came the unmistakable voice of Sasha.

Marco’s head shot around so fast he cricked his neck in the process. The over-16s were stood gawping at him from the other side of the fence, mouths slightly open. He froze. They were early. And they were staring at him like he was some museum exhibit. He tried to keep his composure and continued to turn with Titan, trying to ignore them, hoping that if he could ignore them enough that nagging feeling of fear would subside…

“Would you guys back off?” he heard Jean snap. “You’re distracting him.”

Eren turned to Jean, the potential of a fight sparking hope in his eyes. “As far as I know, Kirschtein, we knew him first. Maybe _you_ should back off.”

Jean’s lip curled. Marco recognised the father-son resemblance all of a sudden, and he didn’t like it. That meant trouble. He brought Titan back to a trot, eyes still very much on Jean and the gathering of teenagers. “Guys-” he began.

He was cut off by Jean. “Who the hell do you think you are, Jaeger? I’ve been helping Marco these past few weeks, what the fuck have you done aside from charging his horse headfirst into a wall of bricks?”

_Uh oh._

“Who the hell do you think _you_ are, swanning around here like you own the place?” Eren demanded. “And that was an accident, you know that!”

Marco had Titan at a walk now, eyes darting between Jean and Eren. “Guys, please stop…” he tried.

It fell on deaf ears. “I do _not_ swan around!” Jean spat.

“Yes you do! You swan around like you’re someone important! Well, newsflash, you’re not! Nobody needs you here!”

Marco saw something snap in Jean. He drew back as though Eren had hit him, slightly winded by the violence of the other boy’s words, and Marco wanted to reach out to him. “You don’t know shit, Jeager!” he all but screamed at him. “And accident my ass, I saw you out there! Titan was doing all the work, you were just a **_passenger_**!”

_Oh no._

“Say that to my fucking face, Kirschtein!” Eren yelled.

“I just did, jackass. Do I have to repeat myself? You deaf as well as incompetent?”

That did it. Eren launched himself at Jean with an inhuman cry of rage, the impact knocking them both onto the floor, and the other teenagers began to crowd around them chanting words of encouragement. The words, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ could be heard as Eren and Jean rolled around, throwing punches wherever they could.

“Jean, stop it!” Marco rushed over with a disgruntled Titan in tow, thrusting the line into Sasha’s hands and bursting into the fray. Mikasa was already there, and in a few moments both had hold of their respective friends tightly, pinning their arms to their sides and dragging them back.

“That’s what you get, you ponceboy!” Eren yelled, still wriggling in Mikasa’s grip.

“You barely hit me, asshole.” Jean had stopped struggling the moment Marco had grabbed him, and Marco felt stupid for holding him quite so tight. “And is ponceboy even a word?”

“Well it fucking is now!”

“Eren,” Mikasa said coldly, “that’s enough. Go and tack up Magic before I knock you out.” Eren miraculously relented (out of fear of being knocked out by Mikasa or out of loyalty Marco wasn’t sure) and stormed off in the direction of the stables, muttering darkly under his breath. “I’m sorry about him,” Mikasa said, “he hasn’t had any coffee yet. Overslept.”

Jean grunted something Marco couldn’t catch, but seeing as the danger was passed, Marco released him. Jean took the opportunity to stalk over to Sasha and snatch Titan from her, causing a little squeak to be admitted from the brunette as he started to lead Titan away, his temper still boiling. Mikasa watched him with a raised brow. “He’s got a chip on his shoulder,” she commented.

“W-well Eren _did_ shout at him,” Marco defended weakly. He recoiled at Mikasa’s stare. “I just… he’s done a lot for us. He really has been helpful.”

“He’s a hothead like Eren,” Mikasa observed. “You should keep an eye on him.”

“He’s fine, Mikasa.” Marco’s words were curt, sharp, and he immediately looked away. “I’m gonna… go help with Titan…”

He couldn’t escape their incredulous gazes fast enough. He was close to running as he turned the corner into the back set of stalls, and to his relief he saw that Eren was already leading Magic out, a pinched expression on his face. “That guy’s insane,” he spat at Marco as he walked past him, and Marco was too slow to fire out a retort. He didn’t know why, but he was angry. Very angry. Not at Jean, but at the others. They didn’t know Jean, they hadn’t spent time with him, they didn’t understand how much Eren’s words hurt him…

_Oh, and you know ALL about that, don’t you? You know everything there is to know about Jean Kirschtein, right?_

Marco shook the snide thoughts free and approached Titan’s stable cautiously, though now it was due to the boy inside as well as the horse. “Jean?”

“I’m fine.” The short reply suggested he wasn’t.

Marco sighed and drew back the bolt, stepping inside the stable and shutting it securely behind him. Jean was leaning against Titan, hands curled into fists as they clutched the horse’s mane. Jean’s teeth were bared as he spun to face him. Marco frowned. “You don’t have to listen to what Eren says. He was speaking out of temper.”

“Stupid bastard doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Jean muttered.

“No, he doesn’t,” Marco agreed, reaching up to unfasten Titan’s surcingle. Jean didn’t step aside as much as he usually did. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“It’s hard not to, when you hear it often enough.”

The words stung. Marco whirled around and grabbed Jean by the shoulders, looking hard into his eyes. The amber flickered for a moment in Jean’s alarm. “You don’t have to listen to it, though! You are needed, okay? You are important. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!”

Jean scoffed weakly. “Yeah, right. Who needs someone like me?”

“ _I_ need someone like you!”

Marco froze. The entirety of his stomach petrified itself the moment he’d blurted out those words. For one horrifying moment, he couldn’t breathe. _I need you, I need you so much, I need you with every fibre of my being but I can’t say that because I’m scared, I’m so scared that you’ll just leave and I’ll never see you again._

Jean looked completely thrown, his eyes wide as he stared at him. It wasn’t fear Marco could see, but it was complete and utter shock. They were both paralysed with the weight of Marco’s words, and there was nothing Marco could do about it. _What the FUCK did you say that for??_ He screamed at himself. _You twat, you idiot, you stupid fucking-_

“I-I mean look at me,” he stammered, finally breaking the silence. “I’m in Titan’s stall dealing with him without shaking or freaking out or feeling like I’m going to faint. Y-you did that. You helped me. How could someone who’s useless help me so much?”

The silence felt like years, but eventually Jean rubbed the back of his neck and offered Marco a small smile. “I… I really helped you that much?” he said. He sounded uncertain.

“Of course! No one’s ever bothered to try before. And, well… you saw me before.” Marco frowned. “I don’t think you realise how good you are. And you care, Jean. That’s worth more than anything.” He had the nagging feeling he was entering dangerous territory, so turned back to Titan, focusing on the surcingle and unfastening it from his stomach. Jean didn’t respond for a while, and it was enough time for Marco to slip the surcingle off and place it over the stable door for the moment. When he turned back, Jean was looking at his boots with a wry smile. “What?”

“Just… thanks, Marco. I appreciate it. I really do.” Marco hadn’t ever heard Jean so sincere before. The smile was a nervous one, he could tell, and he had to bite back a smile at how… sweet he seemed sometimes.

Marco smiled in return. “You’re welcome…”

Jean chuckled then, focusing now on unfastening Titan’s bridle.  Marco relaxed considerably; if Jean was happy enough to laugh, then the worst was over. “I know why Eren bothers me so much,” he said after a while in a bid to change the subject.

“Oh? Why?”

Jean hesitated for a moment, and then replied, “It’s because he reminds me of Marlow. They’re very similar, both of them.”

Marco blinked. “M-Marlow? He’s like Marlow?” He hadn’t expected that. Then again, he didn’t know much about Jean’s boyfriend. Not to mention the fact he hated the way his heart sank at his mention. “How?”

“They’re both hot-headed idiots,” Jean said with a smirk, taking Titan’s bridle off with great care. “Marlow has this insane drive that I’ve never seen on anyone else besides Eren. It’s like they need to prove to everyone that what they’re doing is right, even if no one gives a shit. Not to mention that if they want something, they won’t stop until they get it. It’s how we got together, after all.” He chuckled again. It was warm, gentle, and Marco felt a stab of envy that Jean wasn’t talking about him. He wanted that warmth, that tenderness, that _affection_ that he heard in Jean’s voice. It wasn’t fair.

He tried to keep his face blank, tried to ignore the feeling that bubbled inside him like an overfilling kettle, but it was hard. “I see,” he said. “M-must be your type, then, if you attract people like that.”

Jean shook his head, still smiling. “Not really. Marlow’s not _exactly_ my type.”

Marco frowned. “Oh? What… is your type?” He had to try not to be too eager. In actual fact he wanted to lunge at him and demand Jean tell him everything, but he held back. Just.

Jean’s brow furrowed. “You really wanna know?”

Marco shrugged. “I’m just curious,” he said.

Jean paused, but shrugged too. “Alright, well… I’ve always wanted someone tall, er… dark hair probably… I dunno, I’m not really for face value. I just want someone big and strong, a guy who would protect me. Who’d keep me safe.”

“O-oh…” Marco gave him a small smile. _There wasn’t a hope for him then_ , he thought. He wouldn’t be able to keep himself safe, let alone anyone else. He sighed a little, but it didn’t seem to register with Jean. “A-and Marlow’s not that?” he asked.

“Nah. Marlow couldn’t protect a traffic cone. Well, it’s more like he wouldn’t think of protecting anyone…” Jean’s smile faltered. “It sorta wouldn’t show up on his radar.”

“T-then why are you with him?”

For a moment, Marco thought he’d gone too far. That he’d slipped up, and Jean was going to be seriously offended. But then Jean let out a sigh of his own and hoisted Titan’s bridle over his shoulder. “Because no one else would have me,” he replied simply.

That threw Marco off completely. He stared down at the other boy and his heart physically _clenched_ at how small he suddenly looked. How could nobody want someone as amazing as Jean? Maybe that was just his infatuation talking. It took everything Marco had not to take his hand and pull him close. He swallowed painfully and lowered his gaze. “You really don’t think you’re worth anything, do you?” he said softly. Jean didn’t respond. He glanced back at him, and saw his own pain reflected back in the amber-fire. “Marlow’s lucky to have you, Jean. I just hope he sees that.”

Their eyes met, and Marco didn’t let himself break. Jean took a step forward, and still Marco stood his ground. Jean’s brows were slightly creased as he looked up at Marco, as if asking why he was saying such things, and Marco wanted to be honest. He wanted to be honest so, so badly. But he couldn’t find the words. Jean lowered his gaze, but took another step closer. Marco’s breath hitched as he realised just how close they were. Jean’s eyes met his again, and he was ensnared by those eyes. _Amber-fire, amber-fire_ they seemed to say. His skin itched with its desire to be touched, and before he knew it he was leaning in close, gnawing his lip. Jean’s cheeks were flushed, but still his eyes watched Marco, sizing him up just like they had on the day they’d met…

Finally, he drew his lids over them and arched up. “Marco,” he half-sighed.

The sound of Titan’s bridle hitting the stable floor startled them both, and the spell was broken. Titan jumped away from the noise, ears back and head held high, and Marco looked over to him. “H-hey, take it easy…” he soothed, moving away from Jean to place a hand on the alarmed horse’s neck. “It was just a bridle, don’t be silly…” He went to turn back to Jean once Titan had calmed, but all he saw was the stable door shutting.

Jean had gone.

* * *

 

Jean left that night for his training. Marco didn’t get the chance to see anything more than brief glimpses of him. The panic was returning, returning strongly, and he couldn’t do a thing to shake it. Although, this time, it wasn’t to do with Titan. In fact, he visited his horse after dinner, sinking into the straw clad with his sketchbook before his mother could notice. Titan shifted nervously at Marco’s appearance, but changed his mind when Marco held out another sugared almond for him. As he crunched, Marco turned the pages to the next blank one, and tried to control his breathing.

It had been close, Jean and him in the stable. Really close. Marco had known how much worse his situation could get if they had, but there was a huge feeling of loss that clung to him like dirt. He needed to stop this. He couldn’t be like this, he just couldn’t. He wasn’t _gay,_ for God’s sake, he wasn’t meant to like guys. That wasn’t the way things were. Jinae was a liberal place despite how tight-knit it was, but that didn’t stop the fear pooling in his stomach. There was hatred wherever you were, especially if you were different. Marco didn’t want to be different. He just wanted to blend in with the crowd, and be unimportant. He didn’t want the attention. But he couldn’t deny he wanted attention from Jean.

He grimaced and made an angry scribble in the corner of the page in an attempt to stave off his frustration. He’d managed to content himself in the knowledge that this… whatever it was, was just a one-sided thing: that he would soon get over it and move on. But he hadn’t been the one who started it, not really. Jean had been the one to move forward, to tilt his head back and offer his lips to him…

_Whilst you stood there like a rabbit in the headlights_ , his mind sneered at him.

“He’s got a boyfriend, you idiot,” Marco said aloud. “You cannot screw this up.”

Titan wandered over to Marco at the sound of his voice, ears forward and curious as he lowered his head to nuzzle him. Marco froze, dropping his pencil as he felt the soft nose against his cheek. He gulped back the lump in his throat and brought a shaking hand up to lay it on Titan’s jowl, his fingers creasing at the softness of the coat he found there. He exhaled sharply. Titan blew a ball of air softly on Marco’s skin, and it prickled at the contact. Marco let a smile spread across his face. “We’re alright, aren’t we beautiful boy?” he asked, his smile only growing wider when Titan butted him gently. “That’s right.” He shifted so he could run a hand up his horse’s jagged stripe, almost laughing with relief as Titan’s eyes closed in contentment, the familiar rumbling coming from him again. Marco could cry with how much he’d missed that noise.

“Marco, honey? Where are you?” He stiffened at his mother’s voice, but he didn’t have time to move away. She had already caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye in Titan’s stall. Her eyes snapped open wider. “I-is that-?”

“H-hey mum.” Marco nearly laughed at the look of shock on her face, standing up and taking Titan’s head with him, the gelding almost snoozing now.

“You’re in Titan’s stall,” she breathed, still not moving. It was as though she thought if she did, she would spook the both of them. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Marco thought back to Jean’s words, and smiled to himself. “Bonding,” he replied. “We’re… I think we’re okay, mum. I think it’s going to be okay.”

Marco had managed to stop himself from crying. Eleanor wasn’t so lucky. The tears were rolling down her face as she watched her son brush Titan’s forelock out of his eyes, trail a hand down the white stripe one more time before picking up his hastily dropped sketchbook and pencil from the straw. Once he reached her, she hugged him so tightly Marco thought he might burst. “H-how long have you been-?” she asked.

“Jean,” Marco murmured into her shoulder. “He’s been helping me, mum. I should have told you, I’m sorry, but…”

“No! No, it’s okay!” She was chuckling through her tears. “That boy deserves so much!” she cried as she clutched Marco close to her, a hand going to the back of his head despite the fact he towered over her now.

Marco sighed, and closed his eyes. “Yeah…” he agreed sombrely, the familiar panic returning, “he does.”

* * *

 

He tried not to think about Jean for the rest of the night. He almost succeeded, until he heard the knock on the front door at midnight. Eleanor had already gone to bed, and Marco didn’t really want to wake her. He had been sketching on the kitchen table, and he had lost track of the time. Frowning, he pushed himself up and moved to the door, a whole number of scenarios whirling around his head. When he opened it, sure enough, there was Jean. Marco stood a little straighter. “Hey…”

“Hey.” Jean wasn’t that distinguishable in the darkness, but Marco immediately knew that something was wrong. Aside from coming to his house in the dead of night, that was. “A-am I allowed in?”

“What sort of question is that?” Marco stepped aside to let Jean pass, and saw that the other boy was trembling. Was it really that cold out? “Look, Jean, I- what _happened?_ ”

Jean looked awful. He looked like he’d seen a ghost and been run over repeatedly by a van all at the same time. His cheek looked slightly swelled, and his eyes darted everywhere but at Marco. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as Marco shut the door. “Can I just… not tell you?” he tried. His voice sounded very weak.

Marco glared at him. His mind went back to the day spent with Armin, when his friend had warned him about the illusive Jean Kirschtein. The words came back to him now, as fresh as they had been days ago: _‘He is known for being a compulsive liar… when Jean lies, it’s usually for a good reason…’_ Marco bristled at the memory, and herded Jean into the kitchen. Annoyance was sparking inside him. “Not this time.”

Jean glared right back at him, and Marco nearly broke at seeing such anger. “Just fucking drop it, would you? I’m sore, I’m tired and I just wanna go to bed,” he said, brushing past Marco to get to the fridge.

“You can’t keep pushing people away like this!” Marco hissed, trying not to let his anger hit full volume in case it woke his mother. “Especially people that care about you!”

Jean gave him a look. “What, and you’d give a shit about me if I wasn’t helping you?”

Marco recoiled from Jean’s words. That _stung_. “T-that’s out of line, Jean, and you know it is,” Marco said.

Jean kept up the furious act for about half a second. Then, his features softened, and he lapsed back into how he usually was. He bit his lip and looked away from him. “Fuck, I am so sorry… I didn’t mean to say that.”

“What did you mean by it then?”

Jean said nothing, turning back to the fridge and rummaging through it, muttering that he couldn’t find the butter. Marco let out a pent up sigh and wandered over, hand poised over his shoulder. Could he do this? Was this okay? He didn’t know. He let it drop. “Didn’t anything I said in the stable sink in?” he said, his voice softer now, eyes roving over the back of Jean’s neck and the slim blue Trost Academy fleece he’d opted to wear. Jean didn’t move. He sighed again. “I need you around, Jean, and not just because you’re helping me with Titan. Because you’re great to be around. I really like spending time with you.”

Jean’s shoulders flexed. And then, he turned around. There were tears in his eyes. “You’re out of butter,” he said weakly, and then flopped into Marco’s chest. Marco didn’t hesitate this time; he wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller frame and held him tight, ignoring the blinking light of the fridge as he felt Jean quaking against him in a silent fit of sobs.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, resting his head on Jean’s shoulder. “I… I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry. You can have as many secrets as you need. I haven’t even told you what happened with my accident properly, so I’m one to talk, huh?” He got a sniffle in reply. He’d never seen or heard Jean cry before, not properly anyway- Jean had been adamant his emotional outbursts when watching films didn’t count. “I just want you to be okay,” he added. He meant it. He didn’t need to know, not if Jean wasn’t comfortable telling him.

“Whydidnyakime.”

Marco’s brows rose. “What was that?” he asked, pulling away slightly to unmuffle the noise.

Jean glanced up at him, and was silent for a breath. Then, he sighed. “Nothing,” he said.

Marco wasn’t convinced, but shut the fridge and led Jean up the stairs regardless. Jean cheered up considerably when Marco hit his head as he hadn’t been looking where he was going.

“Ow! H-hey, that wasn’t funny!”

“Yes it was, it was fucking hilarious!”

Marco stayed with Jean in his room until the early hours of the morning, talking about nothing and laughing about even less, but Marco felt like it was needed. His eyes were itching, his entire body was groaning with the need for sleep, but still he stayed up, just to make sure that Jean was okay. And, slowly but surely, the drawn look became one from lack of sleep and nothing else. When two o clock came and went, Marco finally relented. “I’m gonna have to sleep, Jean,” he groaned, sinking onto the bed with a heavy _flumph._ “Too tired.”

“Aww no come on, just a little longer!” Jean whined, throwing a pillow in Marco’s general direction. It bounced off his shoulder uselessly.

“You’re so high maintenance,” Marco groaned.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Marco peeked up at Jean. He was smirking, but he was deadly serious. Marco huffed and sat up, raking a hand through his hair. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Which reminds me…”

“Ugh, fine, fine! Abandon me to my fate!” Jean’s smirk softened as Marco straightened up, and he reached out a hand to Marco’s wrist. “Hey… thanks. You shouldn’t have to put up with me, but you do, and well…just thanks. I know I’ve been thanking you a lot lately, but I just… need you to know.”

Marco smiled, ignoring the fluttering feeling he was getting. “That’s what friends do,” he said brightly, though his mind was still very much on his bed a room away.

“I mean it.” Jean shuffled closer, and for a moment Marco thought that this was it. This was the chance he had ignored before. All he had to do was lean in, tuck his head against Jean’s and-

But then he felt the slightly cooler skin pressing against his forehead, and opened his eyes to see Jean grinning at him. “It’s nice to know I’m not completely useless,” he finished, patting Marco on the cheek daintily before drawing away. Marco felt a little empty at that, but knew it was probably for the best. Rising from the bed, he managed to shuffle to the door before Jean called out softly, “Night, Marco.”

Marco turned back, offering Jean a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Goodnight, Jean,” he murmured, his voice filling with warmth as he shut the door.


	10. The Edge of a Canyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this was part of a huge chapter, but I had to cut it down- if I'm totally honest I don't know how long this fic is gonna end up, I'm writing until I get through the plot soooo...  
> In which Marco gets invited out (to his utter confusion), more sexual frustration continues, and we see lots of drunken teenagers!
> 
> Enjoy, and remember that comments make my world go around! :D

“Okay, so what did Stalin do to gain power?”

“…”

“Jean, anything?”

Jean put his head in his hands. “He fucked all the Russian chicks he could and made them vote for him,” he murmured into his palms.

Marco rolled his eyes and put the history book down. They had been hitting the books for several hours now, and even Marco’s brain was beginning to ache with all the information that was creeping in. Jean was perfectly happy to help Marco out with Titan, but the instant Marco suggested a study session Jean would try his utmost to wrangle out of it. On the rare occasions he relented, he only got so far until he gave up completely. It was frustrating, but Marco ploughed on, hoping that maybe he would get through to the other boy eventually. So far, he wasn’t having much luck. “You need to stop making a habit of giving stupid answers, or otherwise you’re going to say these things in your exam,” he sighed, giving Jean a playful nudge.

“I’m gonna fail so hard,” Jean wailed between his fingers. “I don’t give a shit anymore, I just want my brain to stop killing itself.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” Marco said, his arm drifting around Jean’s shoulders and pulling him in close. “You’ll get it done.”

“Not fucking likely.”

The top of Jean’s hair tickled Marco’s nose as he leant forward to look at the book Marco had just dropped, and the familiar heart-hiccupping commenced. The pair had got closer now, as though the very thin invisible barrier that had stood in their way was gone now, and Marco found it increasingly difficult to hide his feelings from Jean. Of course, he had to, but that didn’t exactly comfort him. Especially seeing as right at this moment in time, all he wanted to do was nuzzle into Jean’s hair like he was his girlfriend. He followed Jean’s gaze instead, and picked the book up for him. “You promised me you’d help me with Titan, and I promised you that you won’t fail. And you won’t- not if I can help it.”

Jean shook with a chuckle. “Then I’m screwed.” Marco whacked him with the nearest available pillow for that. “I’m kidding, you nerd! You’ve got a better chance of passing this exam than me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Okay, when did Stalin start collectivisation?”

“Between 1928 and 1940,” Marco replied without skipping a beat.

“I’m dead,” Jean groaned, throwing himself face first onto the bed. The springs creaked under his weight, and Marco just stared at him with a small smirk. He was such a drama queen at times. He patted his shoulder and stood up from the bed, stretching with a groan of his own. “Okay, we’ll break for a little while. I need to go and sort out the Shetland ponies anyway.”

“Please, for the love of God let me come with you,” Jean whined, detaching himself from his bed.

“Shouldn’t you stay here and try to revise?” Marco asked, his grin betraying the teasing in his voice.

Jean’s face soured. “Fuck that, come on.” And before Marco could retort, Jean grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie and yanked him forward. Marco let out an ‘oop!’ of surprise, but let himself be towed forwards with little resistance.

They passed Eleanor in the corridor, and she stopped short to ask, “Where do you two think you’re going?”

“Marco needs to see to the Shetlands!” Jean replied immediately. He sounded like a rumbled schoolchild, which made Marco cover up a snigger behind his hand. Was his mother really that terrifying? Jean was a head taller than her and still cowered in her freckled wake.

“I gave you two the day off for a reason, you know,” she scolded. “Education is very important, Jean. You need to pass those exams, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bodt,” Jean mumbled. The wretched tone made Marco snigger all the more, and he got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble.

“He’s doing fine, mum. This won’t take long,” Marco promised, ignoring the insistent tugging on his sleeve from Jean. Her eyes slipped away from them with a short huff, and Marco knew they were in the clear- for now, at least. Jean took that as his cue to give Marco’s arm a further yank to get down the stairs. “Ow! Alright, alright,” Marco protested, laughing as Jean wrenched the door open. They were doused in a fresh breeze that ruffled their hair and buffeted their clothes. “You get cabin fever so easily,” Marco remarked as they crossed the rows of stables idly.

Jean shrugged. “What can I say? I was born to live outside.”

“I can’t imagine you sat in a classroom, I have to admit. Why do you go to a school that’s so… academic? You seem better suited to vocational stuff that you can get outside with.”

Jean’s tired look said it all. He never wanted to go to the awesomely-academic school in the first place.

“You should talk to your dad,” Marco said as they approached the Shetlands’ stalls. “Maybe you could show him how good you are at things other than numbers and dates.”

Jean snorted. “Have you met my father recently? He wouldn’t listen to anything I have to say.”

Marco frowned. “But you’re his son.”

“You have a very pink way of seeing the world, Freckles.” Jean’s words were laden with bitter humour, and Marco was troubled by them.

He let Jean take Bubbles whilst he attended to her partner in crime, a coal black hellbeast called Squeak. As they led the two small ponies forward, Jean joked that Marco looked like a giant compared to his tiny charge. Squeak walked with the attitude of a horse double his size, head high and nostrils flaring as he caught sight of the bigger horses trotting around the arena. Marco remembered too late that it was the mid-week lesson of the over-16s. His concerned glance to Jean was acknowledged by the other boy, who looked innocently back. “Hey, I won’t start anything unless Jaeger does.” That settled his nerves a little. He believed that, as defensive as Jean was, he didn’t seem the type to go around picking fights for no good reason.

They tied the Shetlands in the yard and got down to the gruelling task of grooming them. It was a common misconception that they were easier to groom than the other residents of the stables due to their small stature, but where horses like Sina and Titan were sleek and fine-coated, Bubbles and Squeak carried their own climate around with them.

“I can’t believe this!” Jean hissed as a chunk of fur the size of his fist came free in a single brush. “How are they not bald?!”

Marco laughed good-naturedly. “Well they’re used to harsh country with lots of wind and rain. They need a thick coat.”

“Why don’t you clip them?”

“Oh, we tried once…” Marco stared blankly at Squeak as he thought back to it, “…but it didn’t end well.”

“Really?” Jean rested his folded arms on Bubbles’s broad back, his brows lifting as a message for Marco to continue.

“Well, Squeak didn’t like the clippers, and has a habit of untying himself.” Marco laughed again. “You can imagine what happened.”

Jean cringed at the thought. “Yeah, I can. Eesh.”

“Hey, look at all the tumbleweed!”

Marco turned to see Sasha riding out of the arena with a wide grin on her face, eyes on the insane chunks of Shetland hair rolling about the yard as she loosened her rein to let Jester stretch his neck. The group was filing out of the arena, the lesson having finished, and Marco’s gaze zoned in on Eren. The boy was on Pegasus, which automatically would have put him in a bad mood, and as his eyes honed in on Marco and Jean, Marco felt his heart sink. “Hey Kirschtein!” he called out, “how does it feel to get knocked down a peg or ten, doing all this legwork?”

Marco tensed, shooting a look to Jean. His fists were clenched and his jaw twitched, but he turned back to grooming Bubbles. “Bite me, Jaeger,” was his non-committal reply.

Eren pulled up short, Pegasus tossing his head with an annoyed snort, and replied, “Just don’t think you can worm your way into this place. If you think I’ll let you do that, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Duly noted,” Jean said in a bored voice. “Any other gems of wisdom you’d like to pass on?”

Eren’s lip curled, but Marco let out an audible sigh of relief as he rode on past without another word. He silently thanked Jean for not making a scene; they had been lucky last time, but if his mother spotted any sort of tussle she wouldn’t hesitate in extracting both fighters from the throng and putting them to work in hard labour. He paid little attention to the other teenagers as they dismounted from their horses, laughing and joking amongst themselves and even taunting each other for their mistakes in the lesson. Marco remembered how once he’d been part of that, and he forced himself to block out the noise in his ears. Jean seemed just as eager to ignore them, too; he was brushing Bubbles with such firmness the fur was coming off her in clouds, and Marco thought that maybe Bubbles _would_ go bald if Jean continued. Still, he was wearing that intense expression again, and Marco couldn’t help snatching glances of it every now and again…

“Marco?”

“BAH! Y-yes, hello?” he whipped his head around to see a confused looking Mikasa standing beside him, Raven’s reins grasped in her hand. “Oh, M-Mikasa, uh, hey…”

“Hi,” she said, looking him up and down. “Are you alright? You jumped a mile just now.”

“Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine! Never better. Uh, how are you?”

Mikasa, to his utter confusion, gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. Just wondered how you’re doing. I was so glad to see you lungeing Titan.”

“Oh? You were?”

She nodded. “Yeah… I’m glad you’re getting your confidence back.” The smile hadn’t fallen off her face yet, and Marco met it with a coy smile of his own.

“Well it’s all down to Jean,” he said, inclining his head towards him. “I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without him.”

“Really?” Mikasa’s gaze shifted to Jean, and Marco swore that the other boy turned a shade darker under her scrutiny. She hummed in thought before turning back to Marco. “A group of us are going to the pub later on, just to hang out. I know Armin’s coming too, and I wondered if you were up for it? You haven’t been out with us in ages.”

Marco blinked. Mikasa… was asking him to spend time with her? With the others? They hadn’t bothered before, not when he was invisible and just the stable owner’s son.  He wondered what had changed in him now. “Oh, er, gee Mikasa I don’t know…” he began uncertainly.

Her eyes flicked back over to Jean. “You can bring Jean, too. If you want.”

Jean looked as surprised as Marco to have been invited. He dropped his body brush in the grooming kit and shrugged. “I dunno, I mean… won’t Eren be pissed if I turn up?”

Mikasa arched an eyebrow. “Who cares what Eren thinks? I’m the one inviting you. Besides, Eren’s a lightweight, he probably won’t even notice you’re there after the first pint or so.”

That seemed to make up Jean’s mind. “Alright then, I’ll come,” he shrugged, looking at Marco for confirmation.

Marco worried at his lip, looking from one expectant face to the other. He wasn’t sure. He was _never_ sure about going anywhere that involved lots of social activity; he was used to being alone, after all. But there was only so long you could take before the loneliness would seep in and claim you for its own, he reasoned. He sighed. “S-sure, me too.”

Mikasa’s smile got a little wider, though it was barely noticeable. It was rare to see her smile, and Marco could tell she was pleased. “We’re meeting at 7, but you guys can come whenever. Just so long as you _do_.” She directed her next comment at Jean. “Make sure Marco comes. He’ll try to wriggle out of it. You’re good for him.”

Jean blinked, his eyes widening a fraction as she turned back to Raven, laying a hand on the mare’s nose to quieten her. “Er, thanks, uh, I guess,” he muttered, his hand reaching up to tangle itself in his unruly mop of hair. Mikasa didn’t respond: instead, she ran up Raven’s stirrups silently and led her away without a second glance, leaving the two boys gawping in her wake. “Fuck,” Jean swore. “She’s… yeah.”

Marco nodded. “She’s always been like that.”

Jean hesitated. “I’m not gonna lie, a chick like that could turn me.”

“What?!”

Jean threw up his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, man! She’s intense as _fuck_ , is that what living with Jaeger does to you?”

“Maybe.” Marco was feeling the onset of panic, the squirming feeling in his stomach that had been gone for so long returning tenfold at the mention of one little get-together. He hated how it did that. He knew there was nothing to worry about, but it still led there, like a rock, like a disease, ready to spring out at the slightest opportunity and catch him off-guard. He dropped his own brush into the grooming kit too. “C’mon, these guys are done. We should get back to studying.”

Jean’s face was a picture. “What did I ever do to you?” he retorted, untying Bubbles from the ring in the wall and scratching her on the nose. “Can’t we just, I dunno, lunge Titan? Or Sina? I’d happily shovel muck at this rate…”

“ ** _Jean_**.”

“Agh, fine. Slave driver.” He punched Marco lightly on the arm to show he was joking, and Marco grinned despite his nerves. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, this get-together of sorts.

+++

He was wrong. He was so, so wrong. It was going to be awful, the worst night of his life, he was sure of it. And it was only half past six. His anxiety had hit him like a powerful drug, knocking him back into the shadows of no return, and he felt like doing nothing but sketching for the rest of the evening. He was already beginning to construct answers to the inevitable questions he would get from people after not turning up: _I just wasn’t feeling it? I didn’t feel well?_ Or the clincher, _My mum wouldn’t let me?_ Being nineteen had its benefits, sure, but it also had its drawbacks too. One being that the ‘mum’ excuse was pretty much null and void.

Marco sighed and turned back to his sketchpad, and the fierce granite eyes glared right back at him. He was getting better at drawing people now, and the various Jeans that glowered their way through his book were also improving. This new addition almost had the same piercing gaze as its flesh and blood counterpart. The amber was dulled in the silvery- grey on the page, but Marco found his heart flipping just looking at it. “Oh no, you don’t,” Marco whispered to his empty room, arming himself with his eraser. “You cannot go all love-struck over a drawing, Marco, pull yourself together.” He couldn’t bring himself to erase it, though. Those sketched eyes stared back at him, daring him. He sighed and sank deeper into his seat. He hadn’t even paid much attention to the rest of Jean’s face yet; those eyes though… those eyes… He ground his palms into his own eyes and almost screamed with frustration. He was screwed. Completely and irrevocably screwed.

The situation suddenly got a whole lot worse once the actual Jean burst into his room half-naked. Marco nearly had an aneurism as he flung himself onto his sketchbook like a bodyguard, spilling his pencil pot onto the floor in the process. “J-Jean! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he cried.

Marco had dealt with very difficult things in his time. He had once had to cross a river with a horse that was scared of water. That was difficult. He’d galloped a pony half a mile to fetch a doctor another time because the car was out of petrol. That was difficult. But none of these compared to trying not to melt into a goopy puddle of feelings when Jean gave him a dry smirk. “Sorry. I didn’t realise you were busy.” Jean walked further into his room, kicking the door shut behind him, and Marco felt like it was the mouth of a trap closing on him. For a slender guy, Jean had muscle, he noted blankly as he crossed the room to him. It was wiry muscle though, the muscle of a rider; there wasn’t exactly a six pack there, but there was the hint of one under the skin. And then Marco saw the flash of silver from one of Jean’s nipples and shot his eyes back to his desk, trying to control the sudden rush of heat to his face. _He wasn’t gay. He didn’t like guys. He couldn’t like guys. Because he wasn’t gay. Or something like that. But oh god that body should be illegal._ “You drawing?” Jean asked.

Marco gulped. Oh God. He had to try to speak now. “Y-yeah,” he managed to get out, and even that was a great achievement seeing as Jean was walking even closer.

“What are you drawing?” he asked, stooping to pick up the tipped pencil pot.

Marco froze. “N-nothing…”

“Bullshit, lemme see!”

“Jean, no!” Marco protested, panic flashing through him. If Jean saw how much Marco had been drawing him, he wasn’t sure how he’d react- but he was pretty sure Jean wouldn’t be jumping for joy. “It’s private!”

Jean sniggered. “Are you drawing naked girls, Freckles? I knew it.”

Marco blushed to the roots of his hair. His freckles were almost diminished by the strength of it. “N-no, I just… you can’t see. It’s something I do that gives me pleasure, and I don’t plan on sharing with anyone,” he explained lamely.  

Jean gave him a wolfish grin. “I do something like that too, but it doesn’t have anything to do with a pencil…” Marco’s mind immediately went to the dark, disgusting corners it possessed, and he had to really stop himself from imagining Jean running his fingers over his own smooth, surprisingly muscular- _NO. Marco, stop it!_

“Uh, w-was there anything you wanted?” Marco gabbled, “o-or were you just running into my room shirtless for no reason?”

“Oh, yeah, there is. I don’t know what to wear to this thing,” Jean replied.

Marco frowned. “Thing?”

“The pub, Freckles, stay with me.” Jean snapped his fingers, but Marco really did need the reminder. His eyes were too busy devouring Jean’s chest to really give a care for much else. “What are you wearing?”

Marco was brought back down to earth with a bump. “I, er, well…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Jean’s stare, “I, erm, wasn’t going to go.”

“Oh, no. You’re not pulling that shit with me, are you?” Jean’s hands were on his hips now, and he was glowering down at him. Marco gulped again. _Oh God, why is he hot when he’s angry? NO, he is not hot! Pull yourself together!_ “You’ve got to come, Marco. Come on.”

“I-I just…” Marco sighed, the various excuses galloping through his mind waiting to be picked. He instead opted for the honest option. “I get nervous at things like this.”

“Why? They’re not scary, Marco. You could take ‘em all if you wanted.” Jean stopped to consider that. “Okay, maybe not Mikasa, but she’s a beast. I’m pretty sure a pro wrestler couldn’t take her.”

“It’s not that,” Marco said. He bit his lip. How to explain… “I just don’t know what to do when I’m around lots of people. What to say, who to talk to, or if I should talk at all. It just… I find it hard.”

“Well, that’s the easy part,” Jean shrugged, leaning on Marco’s desk as he spoke. Marco tried hard to avoid staring at that nipple piercing that continuously winked at him. It was teasing. Life was so hard sometimes. “The hard part is making sure people like you, but you’re set for that. You’re already ridiculously nice, and they know that. It’d be a crime for someone to hate you, Marco.”

He smiled modestly at that. “Jean…”

“No, don’t deny it. You’re borderline pushover, and you know it. Just be yourself, that’s all they want.” He smiled thinly. “Whereas I have got to be on my best behaviour all night. I have to pretend to get people to like me.”

“Do you pretend with me?” Marco couldn’t help asking, finally letting himself glance up to meet Jean’s eyes. It was an innocent enough question, but his insides were squirming more than ever in anticipation of the answer.

Jean’s smile softened, became more real. “No,” he said after a while. “Not with you.” His voice was full of warmth, and Marco felt the room’s temperature increase by degrees.

He fought to keep his cool, even though the squirming feeling was threatening to burst through his guts and pattern his innermost feelings all over the nearest blank surface, and smiled too. “I’m glad.”

And just as suddenly as the moment had come, it was gone. Jean backed off, the softness replaced by a cocky grin. “Okay, so you’ll come?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Fine, alright, just… if I want to come home early, you have to let me. Deal?”

“Deal. Although you won’t.” The way Jean’s eyes glittered with his words suggested to Marco that there was a promise behind them. “So, what should I wear?”

“Wear anything, it honestly doesn’t matter. It’s just a local pub, there won’t be many people there. Sasha’s dad owns the place, so he might even shut it to everyone except us. Just… wear something casual. I’ll probably just go for jeans and a jumper, if I’m honest.”

Jean chuckled. “Yeah, but you look good in anything.”

Cue furnace-temperature room again. Marco cleared his throat noisily, trying not to choke in the process, and bolted from his chair to get to his wardrobe. It was also to avoid the very likely situation of pulling Jean towards him and thanking him with something a little more than just words. Marco debated on hitting his head on his wardrobe door, but decided against it- Jean didn’t need to think he was insane as well as plain weird. Maybe Jean said that to lots of people; maybe he liked handing out compliments? He certainly liked getting them, perhaps he was just returning the favour? Yeah, that was probably it. Marco found himself smiling though, smiling like a shy girl, and scolded himself. _Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it._ “I-I-er-um-w-well I don’t know about that-”

“Marco.”

Marco jolted when he realised how _close_ that voice was. Jean had obviously followed him to the wardrobe. His chin was almost level with his shoulder, and the presence made Marco all the more nervous. “HMM?” he said, a little too loudly as he spun around.

Jean was a little startled at the noise, but sniggered at it and folded his arms against his chest. “Word of advice?” He leaned a little closer, and Marco stopped breathing. “Learn to take a compliment.”

Marco stared wide-eyed at him, scarcely daring to move as Jean stepped away and began to complain, loudly, that Marco hadn’t helped him yet. When Marco finally agreed to look at what Jean had to offer, the other boy turned his bare back to reach the doorknob- and Marco was greeted by a delicious sight of back and shoulder muscle. He exhaled slowly.

_Jesus fucking Christ this was going to be a long night._

An hour and a half later and Marco was still praying to all the gods he knew. After he stupidly remarked, red-faced, that Jean looked good in green, the other boy had pulled out the greenest, sexiest shirt he possessed, and Marco felt that the universe definitely had it in for him. He, on the other hand, hadn’t ever felt so conscious in his life- and that was saying something. Jean had investigated the innards of Marco’s wardrobe with a critical eye, before thrusting a maroon jumper into his chest. “Here,” he said, “Red’s your colour.” Jean lost his bravado after he uttered those words, his face turning a similar colour to the jumper he’d just thrown at Marco, and Marco pulled it on hurriedly to hide his own burning face.

Eleanor, far from being concerned, looked like it was her birthday when Jean announced their evening plans, and did little more than ruffle Marco’s hair and tenderly remind them to stay out of trouble. This time, Jean wasn’t spared a hair ruffle either. He growled playfully at the treatment, and to Marco’s horror his mother full-on _tittered._ Clearly, Jean’s charm affected all Bodts. And, just as they went out the door…

“Marco, dear, make sure you look after Jean. He’s looking so handsome that someone might try to steal him away,” Eleanor said with a bright smile.

Marco nearly dropped his keys. “MUM!” he shouted, turning bright red in horror. “You can’t SAY that!”

“I just did, sweetie.” Her smile was too innocent. “Go have fun!” She waved them out of the door, a picture of innocence, and Marco couldn’t stop the embarrassment that crashed over him.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” he gabbled as he and Jean trudged down the hill from the stables to the waiting pub. “You shouldn’t be harassed by old women-”

“Heeey, your mum’s not old!” Jean laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I told you before, I like her. She’s funny. And she likes me, so that’s a plus.”

“She likes everyone.”

“Ouch. I’m not special, Marco?” Jean asked, mock hurt crossing his face.

 _Yes. Yes you are, you’re so special, you make me feel things no one else has before and I think I like that, you definitely are special…_ “Nope,” Marco smiled. “Not an inch.”

Jean smirked and bumped him with his hip. “You’re quite the sassy little shit once you get going, aren’t ya?”

Marco shrugged. “Maybe I pretend, just like you.”

They shared a look at that, and Marco tried his best to keep the smile when Jean was looking so surprised. Was Marco really that good at hiding things from everyone? Jean clearly thought so. Marco coughed. “Er, anyway, it’s just up ahead, so, erm…” They fell into a comfortable silence, their footsteps the only noise around. Soon enough, the pub fell into view.

The Rose Garrison had been the only pub in Jinae for centuries. Hardly rebuilt and still boasting the original Georgian ironwork of two roses surrounded by creeping thorns, the pub had stood the test of time, and it had only grown in popularity once the Blaus family took over the business. Today, though it seemed pretty empty; the old oak tables outside were vacant, as were the benches that bordered where Marco and Jean now stood. There was noise coming from inside though, and the laughter and chatter drifted to them invitingly through the open door. Marco’s jaw clenched as the panic began to seep back into the hollows it made in his body.

“Stop looking like you’re about to walk into a pride of lions,” Jean said beside him. “I’m the one who should be nervous.”

“I-I know. Just… weird, I guess. I haven’t been here in a while.” Marco had that insane urge, yet again, to snatch Jean’s hand and hold onto it tight, but he didn’t move. His hand gave a sad little twitch, but nothing more. He smiled. “Jean Kirschtein doesn’t get nervous,” he stated.

“He does when he’s around other teenagers,” Jean replied. Marco heard a quaver in his voice. Jean really was nervous; he wasn’t just saying it to make Marco feel better.

Marco frowned. He had always thought that Jean exuded this confidence that knocked him sideways, but watching him right now, he could see his own anxiety reflected right back at him. That knocked him more sideways that the confidence ever had. It was this thought that caused him take a deep breath to steady his breathing, and then to slip his hand into Jean’s, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest for how violently it slammed against his ribcage. _This was wrong_ , he reminded himself. _Jean won’t want it. You’ve messed everything up._ For a moment, he thought he had; Jean’s hand jolted at the sudden contact, his entire body tensing, and Marco almost flinched away with how painful it was. But then, Jean’s hand clutched back tightly like a lifeline, warm and slightly sweaty with nerves. Marco swallowed his own fears and glanced at Jean, waiting for a reaction. Jean was staring right back at him, but it wasn’t a look that made Marco want to pull away. “T-together?” he managed to squeak out, his voice fast becoming hard to use.

Jean relaxed, and squeezed Marco’s hand gently in response. “Together,” he agreed. Their hands slipped free before they stepped inside.

The rush of heat that welcomed them in was pleasant, and Marco saw Jean looking around. The Garrison was a proper country pub, the kind that had a gigantic fireplace and stone walls that were never plastered over. The only lights were ones that flickered weakly on the walls, and Marco was sure that they were actually candles and not even proper lights. The Blauses liked the authentic feel, and sometimes they liked to go a bit too far. As if by magic, they were immediately set upon by an already slurring Sasha, her eyes batting lazily at them. “Hey, guys! Mikasa told me she invited you, come and sit with us!” she trilled, hooking her arm in Marco’s and steering him towards their gathering. Lots of little tables had been all pushed together to accommodate the large group that sat laughing and joking around it, and as Sasha neared them a few heads rose up. Marco felt his anxiety settle down a little once he spotted Armin, and the blonde immediately shuffled up to make room. “Hey, Marco! I’m glad you came,” Armin said. “What are you having? I’m buying this round.”

“Oh, n-no, it’s okay…” Marco tried, but Jean cut him off.

“What does this place have?”

Armin had only just noticed Jean, it seemed, and his eyes lit up even more. “Oh, hey Jean! I didn’t expect you here, either.”

“Are you surprised? If one turns up the other’s bound to follow,” came the comment from Connie. “They’re stuck like glue these days.”

“Not a bad thing, Connie!” Sasha called out, poking his nose playfully. She whipped her head around and gave the pair a wobbly smile. “Get Jean Scrumpy!” she then called to the scruffy-looking boy behind the bar.

Marco felt his stomach drop in horror at the mere thought. “Oh, no,” he said, “you are not giving him Scrumpy! No way!” Scrumpy was a type of apple cider that was infamous around Jinae. Not only was it strangely sweet on your tongue, making it almost addictive to drink, but it also came with a dangerously high alcohol content. If Sasha had been drinking it, it explained the slurring already. Marco had it often, and most Jinae people built up a tolerance to it; a Trost-goer like Jean didn’t stand a chance.

Sasha grinned brightly at him. “Naww, don’t be a spoilsport Marcooo!” She was almost hanging off of Connie’s neck by this point, and the shorter boy had to struggle to hold her up. “S’good. Soooo good.”

Jean looked questioningly between them. “What’s Scrumpy?” he asked Marco.

“Something that’ll get you wasted in two sips. That’s what it is.” Both Marco and Jean spun around to see Mikasa almost smiling at them. Out of her riding clothes (which usually consisted of years old jodhpurs and ragged old jumpers), Mikasa looked beautiful. Marco couldn’t even deny that; it was a statement of fact more than anything else. The familiar red scarf was still knotted about her throat though, even in the comforting warmth of the pub, and she looked slightly hassled as she struggled to hold a very drunk Eren up. She grunted. “This idiot got challenged by Connie to down two pints of it, and now look at him.”

Eren did look pretty drunk, Marco had to admit. His movement was sluggish and laboured, his eyes blinking slowly as though he’d only just discovered how to, but when his eyes flickered lazily towards Jean Marco tensed up. Instead of the usual furious glare, Eren merely looked mildly confused. “An’ then there’s this a’hole,” he slurred, barely able to keep his head up.

“Eren, behave. Jean’s a friend,” Mikasa said shortly, trying to navigate him over to the nearest seat.

“Some fuckin’ friend, ya big…ol’… hoss’face,” Eren muttered.

Jean blinked. “Wow, are manners not taught here?” he grinned.

“Fuuuuuck you.”

Jean laughed. “I’m sold, I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Jean!” Marco’s face creased in worry. He didn’t want Jean to overdo it. He didn’t want anyone to overdo it, but least of all Jean. He had to get him home somehow, and walking up the hill was going to be difficult enough without a very drunk guy lolling all over him. “M-maybe you shouldn’t…”

“What are you, my mother?” Marco drew back from the sharp comment, startled. He saw the flash of apology in Jean’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. Honest. Kirschteins are famed for their ability to hold their drink.”

Marco frowned. “Why do I have a feeling that that’s a big, fat lie?”

“Marcooo.”

“Fine, knock yourself out,” Marco said, backing down. Sasha let out a cheer and hopped off of Connie’s lap straight to the bar. Marco knew she was going to order the same for him, and he lacked the energy to argue further.

He sank down in a space next to Armin, and Jean followed suit, his eyes still darting to every corner of the little place with intense interest. Marco smiled and turned to Armin. “I thought it was your round,” he said.

“I’ve tried to get a round three times, but Sasha won’t let me. She keeps insisting that it’s on the house,” Armin replied with a shrug, drawing his own drink towards him.

“Wow, this place gets better and better,” Marco heard Jean comment next to him. He then ducked a little closer to talk to Armin, and Marco leant back to avoid their bodies pressing too tightly together. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to handle that well. “So, how was training for you last Sunday?” Jean was asking.

Armin raised a brow at him, looking unimpressed. “You know what it was like. It was disastrous.”

“Disastrous?” Marco asked, interested. “How come?”

“The horse I was riding wouldn’t listen to my leg aids,” Armin explained. “It’s not exactly my fault though: he’s huge, I don’t know how Levi expected me to control a horse that big when I’m used to large ponies.”

“That’s not all,” Jean said gleefully. “Arlert had a jumping lesson all his own, didn’t you?”

Armin cringed. “I was trying my best, but when a horse bolts and you lose the reins you just have to go with it!”

“Yeah, right into a fence.”

“Shut up.”

Marco’s laughter was interrupted by a thud on the table a little further down. Eren was squinting at the three of them suspiciously. “Whatchu all talkin’ ‘bout ya bunch of sissies?”

“We’re talking about you,” Jean said, raising the volume of his voice in order for it to reach him. “And how fucking precious you are when you’re wasted.”

“Whatchu say ‘bout me?” Eren swayed a little, and got shoved back in his seat by an embarrassed Mikasa. “Oi hoss’face, wha’s yur fuckin’ problem?”

“Go to sleep, Eren.”

“Fuuuuck you Co…co co…nie…”

“Connie, you twat.”

“Drinks are heeeere!” Sasha trilled, practically throwing the two full glasses of Scrumpy at Marco and Jean. They had to dive back to avoid the overspill that flowed onto the table, but once Sasha pranced away to no doubt fling another glass of whatever Connie was drinking at him, they relaxed. The danger had passed- for now at least.

Marco peered at his glass. It was a clouded honeyed colour, and when he brought it to his lips the sweetness surprised him- just like it always did. It reminded him of the really sweet apples that he used to keep to treat Titan, and the thought made him drink a little more. He glanced at Jean out of the corner of his eye- and gaped. The other boy had drank half the glass in two large gulps. “JEAN!” he cried.

Jean nearly jumped out of his skin, spilling some of the Scrumpy in the process. “Aw, what did you do that for?” he complained, wiping it off on his jeans. “I like it.”

“You have to drink it slow!” Marco said, panicked, “or else you won’t be able to walk in ten minutes’ time!”

Jean stared at his glass, and with horror Marco recognised that look. It was the look of ‘ _challenge accepted.’_ Before he could try to convince him further, Jean tilted the glass up to his lips and drained it of its contents in a few more gulps, setting it down with a gasp and a pop of his lips. “More,” he breathed. Armin and Marco gawped at him.

“M-maybe you should slow down-” Armin tried, but Jean had attracted attention.

“Woah, man, did you just _down_ that pint?” Connie asked, scooting closer. His eyes were large and impressed, and Marco stifled a groan. If there was anything Jean needed now, it definitely wasn’t encouragement. “You want another one?”

Jean’s curt nod was reply enough, and Connie sprang up from his chair to order another pint. Marco shared a worried glance with Armin. Jean wouldn’t be able to keep it up. He knew he wouldn’t. It was only a matter of time.

As it happened, it only took another half a pint and five minutes of rabid hiccupping for the Scrumpy’s effect to take hold. Marco had only drank half of his first pint, and was feeling rather tipsy, but Jean…

“This is the best fookin’ thing ah’ve eva tasteddd!”

Jean was wasted.

He had sunk down into his seat so that his head was barely visible above the table, and he couldn’t stop giggling to himself. He was also very clingy; he had grabbed onto Marco’s arm at one point, and now refused to let go. Marco was trying to keep him sitting up, but in his own state of drunkenness was finding it difficult. He shared a look with Mikasa down the line, and they both rolled their eyes. “Jeeeean,” Marco sang, tapping the other boy on the shoulder. “Can I have my arm back?”

Jean looked up at him, his grin wide. “Maaarco, there ya are, my best best best best BEST friend in the ‘ole woooorld!” he cried, letting go of Marco for a brief moment before flinging himself around his neck instead. Marco nearly toppled over with the added weight, but managed to right himself just in time, laughing down at Jean as the boy kept on grinning. “Ah, ah really love ya man,” he mumbled. Heat shot into Marco’s face, and he tried his best to wriggle free. He couldn’t hear that. He couldn’t. Jean was drunk, he didn’t know what he was saying, and that wasn’t fair. He didn’t care if Jean was completely ignorant of his feelings. He loved Marco in a platonic, friend kind of way, and Marco… well Marco was pretty sure that he loved Jean in a completely different way.

Jean’s smile vanished as he noticed Marco trying to pull away, and instead hauled him closer, pouting as he buried his face into the curve of Marco’s neck. Marco stopped struggling. The shudder that ran through him was ridiculous, and he let out his breath in one harsh gasp. “J-Jean, stop it,” he tried weakly.

“Nooo.” Jean pulled away then and looked him over, his eyes slightly out of focus as they tried to adjust. “Ah love youuu. Ah do, ah do, don’t look like that, I dooo. You’re da best…” Jean wrinkled his nose, pausing for a moment. “Best… human everrr.”

Marco laughed again, though it was more strained than before. “Th-thanks, I’ll be sure to remember that.” He caught Mikasa’s eye again, and she looked concerned. Thoughtful, almost. “H-he’s alright!” Marco called out. “He’s just had too much, like Eren.” What was different was that Eren had passed out half an hour before, and was currently taking a nap under a bundle of coats that the others had nested together for him. Jean was still very conscious, and very-

Marco suddenly felt something wet graze his earlobe. He snapped his attention back to Jean, who was smiling innocently at him. “D-did you just **_lick my ear?!_** ” Marco squealed, clapping a hand to his ear immediately.

Jean’s eyes rolled around, his smile turning sheepish. “Mebbe.”

Marco was sure something inside him had exploded. _Oh Jesus fuck I can’t do this._ Jean being clingy he could handle, just about. Jean telling him he loved him was pushing a boundary. Jean _licking him_ and getting horny could not happen. No way in Hell. Especially with the way Jean was looking up at him, with a lazy smile that carried the hint of something far more beyond it. His eyes were sparking, and that was never a good sign. And then a hand strayed onto his leg-

Marco yelped and sprang away, carrying Jean with him. In a tangle of legs and arms and drunk Jean, the two of them ended up sprawled on the floor of the pub with Jean wrapped around him like an anaconda, cackling manically. “J-Jean, please, for the love of God get off!” Marco pleaded, but Jean held on stubbornly, wailing out a soft “noooo” as he did so. The feel of Jean so close to him was definitely doing things to his biology, and Marco cursed his luck as he tried to wriggle free without sending a blood rush directly to his groin. He shut his eyes for a brief moment and prayed to God he didn’t get a hard-on now. God didn’t tend to grant prayers like that, but whilst Marco’s eyes were shut he heard an unfamiliar voice demand, “What the hell is going on?!” from above them and he was released. Jean was still led on top of him, pretty much, but he had relaxed his hold on him. He blinked. God was on his side for once?

He peered up at his saviour and immediately wished he hadn’t. The stranger only looked to be about their age, but he also looked as though he was about to punch the both of them. His olive eyes were honed in on Jean in particular, and they narrowed when they moved to Marco. Marco gulped. “What the hell is going on, Jean?” the boy repeated, the icy calm tone he was using worrying Marco even more.

Marco pushed Jean off him now, gently, and began to gabble, “I-I’m sorry, I d-don’t know who you are b-but it’s okay, really, n-nothing’s wrong, we were just-”

Jean cut him off. “Marrrrloooowwww,” he crooned with a hiccup, and staggered to his feet, fixing the newcomer with a beaming, bright smile. “Whatchu doin’ here?”

And suddenly, Marco didn’t have any need to worry about biology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I have to add that drunk!Jean is my fave.  
> And also yes, Marlow! Ehehe that little shit's gonna be stirring up trouble in later chapters, just you waaaait.
> 
> Oh and I also drew a Titan if anyone's curious: https://31.media.tumblr.com/391ea209705c89f642c0d7840ef96ff3/tumblr_n4ckrcOBB31t0ac1wo1_1280.png


	11. One Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update time! Sorry for the cliffhanger last week, I couldn't resist!   
> The chapter in which we learn about the illusive Marlow, drunk Jean causes more hardship for poor Marco, and the horses get a rude awakening...
> 
> Again, comments make my world go round! :D I hope you enjoy this, I think the pub scenes have been my favourite scenes to write so far :) x

Marlow was not the sort of person Marco liked. He may have been a bit biased, it was true, but he wasn’t. Given the choice, if they had grown up together Marco would not have gone within a metre of the other boy.

Marlow was as tall as he was, with dark hair half shaven around his ears in a mimic of an undercut, and a look that suggested everyone get out of his way quickly or else they’d be for it. Although that look did fade once Jean explained, in a roundabout sort of way, what had happened. Marlow’s eyes softened a fraction when he realised. “Oh, Jean’s just been drinking again, huh?” he said, scooping Jean up from his half-crouch on the floor and curling him into his side. “C’mon you little drunkard, let’s get you to a chair.”

“Aww Marloooow you’re such a spoilspooort,” Jean pouted but remarkably did as he was asked, letting Marlow lead him over to a chair before sinking down onto it. He was a little unsteady, but the arm Marlow kept around his waist kept him balanced.

Marco tried to look everywhere but at the couple as he sat back down next to Armin, his stomach churning with guilt and envy and all other sorts of feelings he couldn’t quite pin down. He chose instead to take another tentative sip of his Scrumpy. It didn’t taste quite so sweet this time. Marlow had gotten his own drink, and was swirling the liquid around slowly in its glass. “Sorry for snapping at you,” the boy said, and Marco reluctantly let his eyes fall back on the pair. “I just know how Jean gets when he’s drunk. I didn’t want him hanging off the neck of some poor innocent stranger.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite melt the coldness in his eyes.

Marco shrugged. “It was nothing. Really. I’d have been confused too if I were in your situation.”

Marlow nodded, glad that the matter was settled. “Jean can be a _bit_ of a slut if he’s had one too many, can’t you sweets?” His hand drifted up to the back of Jean’s neck to play with the buzz-cutted hair he found there.

Marco nearly dropped his glass. Had Marlow… really called Jean what he thought he’d heard? The slur curdled in his brain, and he took another bitter gulp of Scrumpy to keep himself from saying anything. Why would anyone call their partner a slut? Armin looked uncomfortable too, and the two shared a concerned look when Jean merely nodded. He’d become very quiet all of a sudden, despite the drink, and it was starting the sow the seeds of worry in Marco’s gut. “I, er, well… I w-wouldn’t know…” he tried.

Marlow chuckled. It didn’t sound very warm. “I’m sorta glad you don’t. Jean does anything you tell him to when he’s drunk. I just have to say the word and he’ll do it, like a puppy dog.” There was a glint to his eyes that Marco bridled at. “Uh, don’t mean to be rude, but who are you? You look a little familiar.”

Marco blinked. “Er, w-well I don’t think we’ve met, but I’m-”

“That’s Marcoooo,” Jean sang, causing both heads to snap to him. He was smiling again, and it physically hurt Marco to see him so happy. “I told you ‘bout Marco haven’t I Marly? Marco is my best friend in the whooole world!” He grabbed Marco’s hand at that, and refused to let go even when Marco tried to pull away shamefully.

Marlow eyed them both with slight amusement, the coldness vanishing for a moment as he took a sip of his drink. It smelt strongly of vodka. “Oh, is that so?” he said.

“Yup! He’s kind, and sweet, and lovely, and brave, and frecklyyyy.” Jean even leaned out of Marlow’s grip to bury his cheek into Marco’s shoulder. Marco couldn’t help the stab of triumph he felt. “He’s scared of ‘is horsie, but ahm gon’ help him be un-scared, see? ‘Cus he needs to jump in the big competitions again, an’ make his mama proud!”

“Riiight. Gotcha. Marco… yeah, the name rings a bell.” Marlow pulled Jean back into his seat to keep him from toppling over, but Jean still held stubbornly onto Marco’s wrist. Marlow gave it a glance, but didn’t do much else. Marco was glad. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw Marlow wrench Jean away from him. “You’re the one who ran out at the showgrounds, right? You stopped that big hulking bastard of a horse from trampling everyone?”

Marco flushed. “Titan wouldn’t have trampled anyone. He was just scared.”

Marlow shrugged carelessly. “Didn’t look that way from where I was standing. I’d say he looked ready to knock down anyone in his way. Looked dangerous.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Marco said calmly, trying to control the sudden temper that had arisen in him.

Marlow blinked. “I’m wrong?”

“Yeah. You’re wrong. He’s my horse and I know him. You don’t.”

A hush fell over the table. Connie stopped pushing Sasha off him. Armin and Mikasa’s talk was cut short. Even Eren stopped snoring. All eyes zeroed in on Marco and Marlow. Marco felt the hot flash of consciousness welling up the back of his neck, but he didn’t care. Maybe the Scrumpy had made him brave, or maybe it was because he didn’t like anyone insulting his horse, but he suddenly didn’t care. Marlow looked stunned, as though he’d never heard someone talk so sharply before. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Freckles. I didn’t realise you were so touchy about your horse. My mistake,” he said, holding up his hands. Marco bit his lip and looked away. The way Marlow had called him Freckles made it sound like a slur, an insult. _Not the way Jean says it. I like the way Jean says it._

Jean was frowning at Marlow now, his eyes lazily looking him up and down. “Are you makin’ my Marco sad?” he asked.

Marlow stared at him incredulously. “Oh, so you’re on his side too?”

“You better not make ‘im sad,” Jean said, squeezing Marco’s hand as he said it, “because he’s ma best friend, and if you make ma best friend sad I’ll… I’ll… ah will… ah will not do that thing with ma tongue you like anymore.” He straightened up proudly after finishing his promise, before slumping back onto the table again.

Marlow gawped at him. “What the fuck has he been drinking?” he asked.

Marco couldn’t reply. He was far too floored by Jean’s sudden protectiveness over him. Even in his drunken state, Jean had stuck up for him. God, it wasn’t fair. He squeezed Jean’s hand back in a silent thank you, whilst trying not to let on that he felt like something had just been ripped out of his chest.

“It’s Scrumpy,” Mikasa said suddenly, appearing behind Marco like a ghost. “Jinaean speciality. Though he is an idiot to have drunk more than one pint of the stuff.”

“Ah love you too Su Casa Mi Casa,” Jean slurred.

Mikasa ignored him. She was focused solely on Marlow, and to Marco’s slight amusement he looked a little fearful. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” she said coolly. “I’m Mikasa. You are Jean’s…?”

“Boyfriend,” he answered for her. His eyes narrowed. “You’re the girl who nearly won that competition, aren’t you? You rode the smart little paint?”

“Yes. You live in Trost?” When he nodded, she continued, “Then why are you in Jinae? Sightseeing?”

His eyes narrowed further. “Do I need an excuse, _Mikasa_?” he said. There was an edge to his words that Marco didn’t like the sound of.

Mikasa seemed unfazed by it. “Jean didn’t know you were coming. As you can see, he is fine with us. If you’re here to check up on him, then there’s really no need. That’s a sign of insecurity in a relationship, you know.”

“N-now see here-” Marlow spluttered, but Mikasa cut him off.

“I think you’re making Marco uncomfortable. If you plan on staying here for much longer, I suggest you be nice to him. He’s our friend as well as Jean’s, and we don’t like seeing him hurt.”

 Marco looked frantically back and forth between the stoic Mikasa and the stunned Marlow. He didn’t know how to feel. Half of him felt like punching the air, because people were sticking up for him for once, but the other half just wanted to shrink away and avoid them for weeks. He didn’t want to bother people. He didn’t want to be a burden. It was this that caused him to rise shakily to his feet, and mutter a half-hearted, “I’m going outside,” before peeling his wrist free from Jean’s grip, turning and walking to the door. It hadn’t felt as far away the first time; now it felt like a marathon. He heard a few demands from the others for him to stay, but he shut them out, pushing the door open and greeting the sharp blast of cold wind willingly. He needed to get out of there- if only for a little while.

The outdoors was quiet and cold, everything that the room inside was not. Marco tucked his hands in his pockets and leant against one of the old wooden beams holding the shelter up, bracing himself against the sudden bitter wind. He hadn’t expected it to get so cold, not with how warm it had been when he and Jean had set off… but then again, his warmth back then was probably more to do with the company than the weather itself. Now he just felt cold.

He blew into his hands to warm them, cursing the irregularity of the Jinaean summer, and let his eyes slide up to the sky. The stars weren’t out tonight, eclipsed by the cloud that promised rain the next morning, but the moon was in sight, shining mockingly down at him. He sighed again, and shoved his hands back in his pockets. Things were getting difficult- too difficult. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the charade of just enjoying Jean’s company in a purely platonic way; the way his chest tightened and pained as he glared up at the moon was evidence enough. He shut his eyes, shutting out the moon, shutting out the revelry coming from behind him, shutting out everything…

“Marco.”

His eyes snapped open. _You can shut out everything,_ his mind said cruelly, _except that voice._ He didn’t want to turn around and see Jean swaying against the beam next to him, nor did he want to hear Marlow’s questioning tone demanding to know where his boyfriend had gotten to. But he did. “Hey, you,” he said softly, painfully. “You s-should go inside. Go have fun.”

Jean straightened up then, his brows drawn together. His eyes weren’t as glazed as they had been before. Maybe the harsh cold had sobered him up a little? Marco wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that Jean was staring at him, and he looked concerned. “I ain’t going back in,” Jean said stoutly, “unless you are.” He wasn’t exactly _sober_ , Marco realised, but he was a little more intelligible.

He sighed. “Jean, I can’t. Not right now.”

“Why not?” Jean’s frown grew deeper. “Is it ‘cus of Marlow?”

_Yes, it has everything to do with Marlow. He doesn’t treat you right and you put up with it because you think you have to. Or maybe that’s just me being a jealous baby._ “No. J-just…” Marco looked away. “Go back inside. It’s cold out here.”

“Don’t care.”

“Look, will you ever stop being a stubborn ass?” Marco shot back, his temper flaring up. “Go back inside before you catch your death!” Jean flinched, his eyes widening a fraction, and Marco immediately felt the beginnings of guilt weave their way into his mind. “I- sorry. Sorry, I… I’m just…” He raked a hand through his hair, huffing.

“Marco.” His name on Jean’s lips made him quiver, but he didn’t show it. He looked back, and saw that Jean looked more worried than ever. “I’m sorry.”

Marco paused. He hadn’t expected that. “What-?”

“Marlow upset you.” Jean visibly sagged. “S’my fault.”

“Wh-what? How is Marlow upsetting me anything to do with you?” Marco asked.

Jean shrugged. “He’s my boyfriend. Wanted him to be nice. S’not though, is he?” He shrugged again, and kicked a loose stone in front of him. “I got it wrong. He doesn’t even like horses, not really. Who doesn’t like horses, I mean _c’mon_ they’re fuckin’ beautiful.” He leant against the beam for support again as he continued, in his rambling way, “I mean, he’s good at sex n’ shit (here Marco coloured considerably) but that ain’t what it should be about, issit? Should be ‘bout trust an’ security an’ fuckin’ shit like that. Like the shit I have with…” He frowned, and quietened. Even drunk, Jean seemed to have a censor button. A bit of one, anyway.  

Marco was silent for a while. He didn’t know what to say. Could he be honest? Could he be honestly, totally honest? He wasn’t sure he could admit it yet. _It’s all my fault, I’m jealous of him because I want to be the one holding you._ He bit his lip. “Jean…” he didn’t know what he was meant to say after that. He just let out another huff of frustration and thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. There was nothing to say. “Y-you’re drunk.”

“And you’re not.” Marco glanced back to see Jean lurch over to him, and jerked away instinctively. The motion seemed to startle Jean, for the hurt in his eyes was obvious to Marco. He mumbled an apology for sneaking up, but started peering at him intently. It was like the day they’d met, the day Marco was sure Jean had been studying him like an old book with difficult words. “You’re sad, Marco. Don’ like you bein’ sad.”

Marco tried a shaky smile. “I’m fine,” he said. He’d used those words so much the past three years that they sounded fake coming from his lips.

“Liar, liar.” Jean inched closer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “What issit?”

“Jean, I can’t.”

“’Course you can, just open your mouth an’ say it.” Jean had his head against Marco’s now, and Marco’s mind was reeling with all the sudden ideas that sprung into his head; the most prominent one was that kissing him wouldn’t be too bad an idea. He was drunk, after all, he might not even remember…

Marco wet his lips, and closed his eyes. “Sorry, Jean, but it’s not something you can help me with this time,” he said.

Jean let out a small mumble at that, words Marco didn’t catch, but the pressure on his forehead increased. He gritted his teeth as Jean wandered closer, so close he could smell the hair product he used to keep his hair in order. His stomach flipped. Their bodies were so close to touching too, the promise of heat trapped between them. _Not fair, not fair, not fair._ He could smell the sweetness of the Scrumpy on Jean’s breath as he breathed, the heat from his flushed cheeks, everything. If he tilted his head in just the right way, he could brush his lips against Jean’s, claim it was an accident, and wait for the reaction. He could do it. He could. Why not? He scrunched his eyes tight…

…and pulled away. “M-Marlow’s waiting for you,” he said numbly. “You should… you should go find him.”

Jean didn’t say anything for a while. Then, Marco heard him let out a shuddering sigh, and opened an eye questioningly. Jean was giving the ground a filthy look. “I don’t wanna,” he said simply. Marco’s heart leapt into his throat.

He couldn’t stop himself. Maybe it was the sign that Jean wasn’t as in love with Marlow as he’d thought, maybe it was the hesitation in his eyes, but before Marco could think about what he was saying, it was out of his mouth. “Leave him,” he blurted out. It was a simple enough statement, but it sent Marco into a full-blown panic. _Why had he said that?! And why had he sounded so **calm** saying it?! _

Jean’s gaze shot up. His eyes were wide again. “Wh-what?”

“Leave him. Jean, you deserve so much more than him.” Was he being cruel? Marco wasn’t sure; he was being selfish, definitely, from the look Jean was giving him. He was fanning that flicker of doubt he’d seen, and he wanted it to roar into an inferno. “He treats you like-” He broke off, and sighed. “Just… leave him, Jean. For your own sake. If you’re not happy, then what’s the point?”

Jean gulped. Marco realised, with horror, that the other boy was trying to hold back tears. Oh no. He didn’t do well with tearful drunks. Jean managed to contain himself, however, and looked up at the sky. “Because if I leave him, I’d be on my own,” he whispered wretchedly to the night.

Marco’s stomach dropped. “J-Jean, you wouldn’t be on your own. You’re never on your own, not if you don’t want to be.”

Jean looked at him then, and _really_ looked. It was a deciphering look again, and Marco didn’t shrink away this time. Jean’s lips parted, and it looked as though he was about to say something, until-

“Heeey bitchesssss!”

Eren had woken up.

Jean and Marco’s heads jerked as one towards the now conscious boy, his mop of dark hair falling over his eyes a little as he staggered forwards. Marco felt like a part of him had been ripped away without being revealed, and realised that if the conversation had gone on for much longer he wouldn’t have been able to contain himself. Maybe he had Eren to thank. “What are you ladies talking ‘bout?” the boy asked. He, too, sounded a little less drunk than before. “Star-gazing?”

“Fuuuuck off Jaeger,” Jean hissed.

“Heyy, I don’t judge, I like star-gazing as much as the next gaylord.” Eren folded his arms against his chest, and took another step forwards. “I’ve had an idea, horseface. Somethin’ to settle our dispute.”

Jean scoffed. Suddenly, his cocky bravado was back, and Marco felt like he’d lost him. Just a little bit. “We don’t have a dispute. You jus’ decided to be a prick,” he sneered.

“That, then.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “Go on, then.”

Marco didn’t really want to hear it. Eren’s ideas didn’t tend to be good ones, and seeing as the last idea of his was to take Titan to the showgrounds Marco wasn’t holding out much hope for this one to be any better. But even he didn’t expect Eren to reply, with a smug grin, “We should go back to the stables and have a race. Right now.”

Marco snorted into laughter. Eren just stared at him, deadpan, until he managed to splutter out, “Y-you must be joking.”

“Nope. Deadly serious.” Eren certainly seemed serious, and that got Marco worried.

“E-Eren, no!” Marco said. “No, definitely not, my mum will go mad!”

“Not if we’re quiet, you know your mum sleeps like a log.” Eren was staring at him earnestly. “ _C’mooon_ Marco. It won’t take long for me to beat Kirschtein’s ass.”

“You take that back, Jaeger!” Jean snapped. “I could kick your ass any time I wanted to!”

“What about right now?” Eren retorted gleefully.

“Oh, it’s **_on._** ”

“Jean…” Marco began, but something alerted him to more people heading of the pub.

When he turned, he saw that it was the collection of others, with Armin looking just as concerned as Marco was. Sasha had sobered up a little more, but she was still hanging off of Connie’s neck like her life depended on it. Mikasa headed the group, her folded arms looser than normal, and she cocked an eyebrow at her brother. “Eren, are we getting this over with or what?”

Marco stared at her in horror. “Mikasa, not you too! Has everyone gone completely mad?!” he cried, looking to each face in the hope that someone else thought this was a stupid an idea as he and Armin clearly did.

She shrugged. “To be honest, once Eren’s got an idea in his head it’s pretty hard to shake it. You might as well just let him get on with it.”

“But it’s _pitch black!”_

“The horses can see in the dark,” Jean offered.

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

“Marco.” He flinched. He hadn’t noticed Marlow at the rear of the group, and now he was looking at them all with a slight sneer on his face. His eyes looked a little out of focus. The vodka-laced drink had clearly started to kick in. “I think it’s as stupid as you do, but they won’t shut up about it. Just let them do it. If they break their necks it’ll be their own bloody fault.”

Marco stared furiously at him for a moment. He wanted to shout at him. He wanted to shake him. He wanted to tell him what he thought of him. Marlow was quite willing to let Eren and Jean race two half-asleep horses in the dark and risk hurting themselves badly just because they wouldn’t _shut up._ Marco wanted to scream, ‘ _but he’s your BOYFRIEND!’_ at him; he wouldn’t want Jean doing anything risky if he was… but he wasn’t, he reminded himself, and he wouldn’t ever be.

It was mainly that reason that bundled him into the back of the Braus family Land Rover with Connie at the wheel, squashed in between Jean and Marlow as luck would have it. Armin had taken his own battered little car with Eren and Mikasa wedged in every available gap, which left the Land Rover a little more spacious- however barely. Marlow looked like he was promising murder to Marco with every rock of the unsteady road pushing him closer to Jean. Jean himself had taken to glowering out the window, jaw clenched and body like a stone. No matter what Marco tried to say or do, he ignored him. After the fourth, “Jean, please don’t do this,” Jean turned and gave Marco a look that told him that no matter what he said, he wouldn’t be changing his mind.

Marco sank back into the seat and folded his arms, the picture of a sulking toddler. “I can’t believe you’re all going to let them do this,” he muttered savagely to the car.

“Aw come on Marco,” Sasha argued from the front seat, twisting around to look at him, “it’s no big deal. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“What if they have an accident?!” Marco all but yelled in her face. “What if they fall off, what if a horse _lands on them_ , huh?!”

“Oh, pipe down you little saint,” Marlow hissed from beside him. “Only fucking idiots get into accidents.”

Marco froze. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. _Only fucking idiots get into accidents…_ Maybe Marlow was right, maybe he wasn’t, but Marco suddenly felt a squirm of anxiety burst into rage. His shakes started, but these were fuelled with the desire to punch something, or to run away. “I-is that what you think?” he said, his voice joining in with the quakes in his body.

“Yeah. That’s what I think. People who get into accidents shouldn’t be riding in the first place. If they’re thick enough to fall off, they’re not good enough.” Marlow squinted at him challengingly. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong again?”

The other inhabitants of the Land Rover were silent. They all knew. They all understood. Sasha’s brows were drawn down, and Connie was gripping the steering wheel just a little bit tighter. The silence was so thick, it fell around them like a fog. Marco swallowed painfully and shared a look with Jean, and finally got a reaction. The other boy’s eyes flashed with alarm, with pain, with apology, but none of it helped. Marlow’s words dug into Marco’s sides like spurs. “Connie, stop the car,” he said calmly.

Connie sighed heavily. “Marco…”

“Stop the car, Connie. Please…”

“Marco, we’re almost there.”

“CONNIE, LET ME GET OUT OF THE CAR, NOW.”

“Shit!” Connie slammed his foot on the brake so violently in his surprise that it flung them all forwards. “Marco, we’re almost-”

“I don’t care! Let me out!” Marco shoved Marlow aside heavily and kicked the door open with his good leg, anger and hurt running like poison through him. “I’m not dealing with this…I c-can’t…”

“M-Marco…” Jean said, and Marco glanced back at him. He looked like he was about to cry, and Marco was sure it was the drink talking again. “Marco, don’t go,” he said in a small voice.

Marco bit his lip. He wanted to grab Jean and yank him out of the car, too. But then he looked back to Marlow, saw the slightly startled expression in his eyes, and the fire came back with a vengeance. He sighed. “Just… j-just go on, I’ll meet you there.” He slammed the door in Marlow’s face, and the Land Rover backtracked in its place on the hill. Connie thrust it into an upper gear and it rumbled to life again, powering up the hill at a steady pace. Marco watched it go. He needed space, and the cold night air, to think things over.

He started to walk, and even though it shot pain through his leg he carried on, gritting his teeth against it and feeling like maybe he deserved to feel the pain right about now. Marlow didn’t know anything about horses, he remembered. He didn’t know, and he didn’t like them that much, according to Jean. He was in no position to tell Marco that being a bad rider was the reason for his accident- and he didn’t know about him having said accident, either. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to hear it, though. A shiver rippled through his body as he climbed, his head tucking against his chest to keep warm. Jean deserved better. He deserved so much better. Could… could Marco be better for him? He frowned as he thought about it. At the moment, Jean was on the way to getting hurt if he wasn’t careful. Marco’s face set, and he picked up the pace.

Connie was right; they hadn’t been far away from the stables, after all. It only took Marco an extra ten minutes to get there, slightly out of breath and with his leg pulsing horribly, but he felt a little better. He wasn’t going to try to storm up to Marlow and punch him, for starters- if he even could.

The group of teenagers in the courtyard looked around guiltily as he approached. Marlow and Jean were nowhere to be seen, and Marco wasn’t sure if he was glad of that or not.

Armin was upon him in seconds. He grabbed him into a tight hug and refused to let go, muttering angrily into his shirt, “Can’t believe Marlow said that… don’t listen to him…first class asshole…how dare he…”

Marco’s heart melted, and rested his head on top of Armin’s head. “It’s alright, Armin… it just surprised me, that’s all.”

“It’s not alright!” Armin snapped, pulling away to fix Marco with a glare. “He shouldn’t have said a word! Marco, promise me you don’t believe him!”

“I promise,” Marco said automatically. Saying it and feeling it were two very different things, however.

Eren had taken Raven out of her stall, and the mare was looking sleepily about her, ears rotating with vague interest as she wondered what on earth she was doing awake at such a late hour. Eren was gripping her reins, but there was no saddle to be seen. Marco pulled away from Armin and stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re riding _bareback_?” he hissed.

Eren nodded, scratching the mare’s nose with a gentle expression. “Jean’s riding Sina.”

Marco’s eyes widened. _Sina?!_ She was hard enough to handle sober, but if she was sleepy and Jean was half drunk… “Where is he?” he said urgently. “I can’t let him do this. This has gone on long enough.”

“He’s not your boyfriend, Marco,” Eren said.

Marco felt like he’d been punched. He glared at Eren. “I don’t care. I care about him. And I don’t want either of you getting hurt. Where is he?”

Connie answered him. “He went to get Sina, and Marlow went with him. They were talking pretty intently, I don’t know what about.”

Marco made to storm towards the stables, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Mikasa. “Marco, calm down,” she said softly.

“How can I calm down?!” Marco said a little louder than before, pulling away from her. “I can’t believe you! _You_ of all people letting Eren ride-”

“Marco, listen to me.” Mikasa fixed him with a stony glare. “I want Eren and Jean to get along as much as you do. And if this might help them, don’t you want to try it? Raven will look after Eren, and I’m sure Sina will entrust Jean with her life, too.” There was something in the way she looked at Raven that made Marco think the mare would be deadly sorry if she did anything to hurt Eren.

“Hey, guys!” Sasha stage-whispered, “Jean’s coming!”

Marco turned- and sure enough, he was leading Sina forward, with Marlow at his side. The other boy was smirking rather openly, smug and proud, but Jean’s gaze was cast downward, a strange expression there instead as he threaded Sina’s reins through his fingers. The mare picked up her feet in a sprightly way, her eyes large and bright, and Marco marvelled at how awake she seemed to be. She tried to pull forward, and Jean let her with a heavy look in her direction. Marco’s heart sank. Something was wrong.

He couldn’t help walking forward to meet them, suspicion rising in the pit of his stomach as he glanced at Marlow. He then brought his attention to Sina. The mare leaned down to nuzzle him softly, snorting a greeting as he ran a hand through her neat forelock. “Hey sweetheart,” he cooed. “Be good, alright?” Jean’s eyes were searching Marco, he could feel the burn of them on him, and waited for a few painful seconds before meeting them. “Be careful,” he said. Jean looked like he wanted to hug him. Marco glanced back to Sina and ran a hand down her face, his chest feeling very heavy again.

“Hey, horse whisperer,” Marlow said, a little softer this time, “can we get past?”

Jean shot his boyfriend a glare. “Hey, I said cut it out.”

“Sorry.”

Marco twitched, but stepped aside with a churning stomach.

On sighting Jean, Eren took Raven’s reins in one hand and heaved himself up onto her back, settling deep into the curve of her spine as the mare shifted her weight. Eren suddenly looked very ill; the alcoholic bravery had clearly evaporated now he was doing it. Unfortunately, like Mikasa said, Eren was the type to follow through on a promise even if he’d changed his mind. He nudged Raven close to Sina, the mares almost bumping noses as he asked Jean, “You ready? We’ll race in that paddock by the ménage. To the end and back.”

Jean gave him a curt nod in reply, gathering Sina’s own reins in his hand and springing onto her back as gently as he could without unsettling her. The young mare skittered backwards, head shooting up as she got used to the sudden weight, and Marco bolted forwards without thinking. He grabbed the side of Sina’s bridle as she swung her haunches out, her ears falling back. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he soothed, stroking her cheek beneath the bridle with his fingers. He chanced a look up at Jean, and the other boy was ghost-like in his place atop her. He was as bad as Eren. Both boys looked like they wanted to back out, but like the stubborn mules they were, neither would. Marco met Jean’s eyes and offered him a weak smile. “If you’re going to do something stupid, at least win, alright?” he said, barely keeping his words from jumbling when Jean gave the same wavering smile back. He let go of Sina’s bridle and Jean moved her forwards at a snappy walk, her head bobbing energetically as she looked with curiosity at the piebald mare that followed her.

Sasha and Connie had already opened the gate to the paddock, and the two mares stepped inside nervously, Raven blowing through her nose and Sina plunging her head up. Marco had a theory that horses could sense when something strange was about to go on, and Raven and Sina seemed to be proving it. Sina was dancing on her toes, making strangled little wheezing noises as Jean circled her around in an attempt to calm her, his knuckles white on the reins. Marco wasn’t sure he’d be able to take watching. Raven was sidestepping and trying to fight Eren’s grip on her, whilst Eren hung on like a limpet. “Mikasa, call it!” Eren hissed at the collected group on the other side of the fence. “I can’t hold her much longer!”

“Alright…” Mikasa squinted at them both, and then satisfied that they were as close as they were ever going to be, she cried, “Go!”

Sina seemed to hear the signal before Jean. She sprang back on her heels and bounded away like a rabbit, ears pricked forward and Jean instantly curling into her neck. Raven bolted forward too, Eren’s grip tightening as both mares surged into furious gallops. Marco grabbed onto the fence for dear life, leaning forward to better see as the pair thundered across the paddock and were quickly swallowed by the darkness. This was a stupid idea. This was beyond stupid, it was plain _deadly_. It was so dark, and the distance was so big- it may only have taken less than five minutes to run, but it didn’t help his nerves. Marco hoped that Raven and Sina could see better than Jean and Eren could. They were blind in their race, but so long as the horses could see...

The group could still hear the rhythmic thudding of hooves against grass, still hear the laboured breath of the horses, and no one dared break the silence. Marco was waiting for the inevitable sound of a scuffle or a fall, and his ears seemed trained on the very thought of it. Connie and Sasha were muttering bets between themselves- apparently, Connie had his money on Jean- when Marco heard Marlow let out a sigh beside him. “He’s such a lunatic,” he said, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “He thinks doing this will prove a point.”

Marco frowned. “What point?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from the paddock to look at Marlow. Curiosity was too much for him; he was still deeply suspicious of the other boy but was far too lazy to hold a grudge.

“That he’s better than Eren. That he’s worth something.” Marlow tutted with a mirthful smile. “Little does he know, eh? He doesn’t need to do something like this.”

“W-well… Jean never thinks he’s good enough,” Marco said, turning back to the paddock. “I suppose some people just don’t believe it when they’re told how good they are. They need to prove it.”

“You were the one so adamant that he wasn’t running a minute ago.”

Marco smiled humourlessly. “Yes, but since when does Jean listen to anyone? You should know that.” He was ashamed at how proud he suddenly felt that Marlow was ignorant of such an important part of Jean’s personality. It was like he was scoring cheap points off of him by stating how much he knew about him. It was pathetic, Marco knew that, but it was giving him a sick sort of pleasure and he was happy to roll with it for a little while.

Marlow didn’t say anything for a while. It felt like an age. Marco distinctly heard the encouraging cries of Eren as they evidently reached the end of the paddock and came bolting back before Marlow spoke again. “You seem to know an awful lot about him, you know.”

Marco stiffened. “W-well we’re living together at the moment, you pick up on things.”

“Hmmph.” Marlow folded his arms. He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a dangerous volume. “Just so you know, for the record Jean belongs to _me._ He’s **_mine._** No matter how much you try to pussyfoot around him and make him like you, he is mine, and I am not letting him go.”

Marco recoiled at that. “J-Jean doesn’t belong to anyone. He’s his own person!”

“Yeah, keep believing that,” Marlow scoffed.

“He’s not _property_ ,” Marco muttered savagely, “he is a person with thoughts and feelings-”

“- that you want to fuck, clearly.” Marco’s eyes widened. He felt a chill rush down his spine, and when he looked in horror at Marlow the boy rolled his eyes. “Don’t look so innocent. It’s written all over your face. You want him, but I’m the one screwing him, not you. Remember that.” Marco let out a noise of disgust and made an effort to block out the rest of Marlow’s talk, but the other boy leant even closer. “He was a virgin when I met him. He was all innocence and light, blushing at everything. Now he begs for it like a cat in heat, and _I_ did that, not you.”

Marco’s lip curled, his body wracked with shakes as he turned away. How Marlow had managed to reduce his feelings down to something so primal and lustful repulsed him. Was that all Marlow cared about?

“I’m just saying,” Marlow was whispering as Marco fell back to earth, “keep off the grass. Understand?” Marco didn’t dignify him with a response. His mind was too busy reeling.

At that moment, the first horse appeared in the overhead light. It was Sina, flecked with sweat and blowing heavily, with Jean practically submerged in her mane. Raven followed a head behind, Eren urging her on with energetic kicks and hissed commands. Sasha started cheering, and Marco’s nails dug deeper into the wood of the fence. Sina was running like a racehorse, and Jean seemed to blend in with her like he usually did, his face set and eyes fixed on nothing but the fence ahead. Every stride was practiced, heavy, and Marco suddenly had the thought that the fence wouldn’t stop them. Raven’s hooves were hitting the ground stride for stride with Sina’s, the only thing between them the slight arch of Sina’s nose that pushed her ahead. Connie and Armin were muttering prayers under their breath, and Mikasa was silent. Both boys looked like they were heading a cavalry charge, the looks on their faces were so intense, and Marco saw Jean mouth a curse as he saw how quickly the fence was looming on them. Eren called out to Jean, “Stop! You win, I get it, just stop her!” but Jean seemed incapable. He was hauling on the reins, but Sina wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were trained on the fence. Her stride began to lengthen.

Marco went cold.

“Everyone get out of the way, she’s going to try to jump!” he shouted, grabbing hold of the nearest person and giving them a hefty shove away from the fence.

It happened to be Marlow. He stumbled back, rage etched on his face. “What?! No she won’t, Jean can stop her!”

“Does it look like he can?!” Marco snapped. “Sina’s not going to stop no matter what he does!”

“I suppose you know Jean enough to know that, right?” Marlow’s reply was snide, but at least he was staying where he was. Marco didn’t have enough time to explain that he knew _horses_. Sina had her mind set on jumping the fence, and no amount of pulling on the reins was going to stop her.

Eren had got Raven to listen, at least; the piebald was slackening her pace, shaking her head and half-rearing at the treatment, but she was slowing. Sina’s hot blood was telling her otherwise. Everyone scattered from the fence as she neared it, Jean still frozen on her back, and Marco realised that there was nothing else he could do. All he could do was watch. He recalled watching something similar before: Eren holding on for dear life as Titan plunged towards a jump blindly, possessed with terror.

_No, this couldn’t happen, make it stop._

And then, suddenly, the paddock was flooded with light.

Sina squealed in surprise, momentarily blinded, and rose onto her hind legs, long legs locked in wheeling spasms as Jean held on tight. She had just been about to take the jump. Marco let out his breath in a rush. The mare pivoted to the right, her ears back and eyes rolling, but now Jean brought her down from a rear with a harsh shout. His fear was gone now, replaced with a grim determination, and once she stopped fussing beneath him he dropped the reins and just sat there, hands shaking badly.

“Jean!” Marco said, not hesitating in climbing over the fence and running to him. He didn’t care if Marlow hated him for it. He didn’t care if any of the others made comments. He didn’t care. He grabbed hold of Sina’s reins in a death grip, causing her to jerk her head away from him in alarm, and punched Jean’s leg with as much force as he could muster. “You _fucking idiot!”_ he all but screamed at him.

“Ow! M-Marco!”

“NO.” Marco punched him again. “You’re a fucking idiot! Don’t you dare do that again! Don’t…don’t…” Marco sagged against Sina’s side, his clenched fist still resting on Jean’s thigh as his head fell on the other boy’s knee. He was shaking too.

He didn’t look up until he felt a hand in his hair. When he did, Jean was smiling weakly down at him. “Is it a Bodt family tradition to show affection through violence?” he asked. His fingers were tickling the back of Marco’s neck, playing with the sensitive hairs they found there.

Marco sniffed and leant back into his knee. “B-be serious for once in your f-fucking life!” he shouted into it. “I’m so… I’m so _angry_ with you…”

“I’m angry with myself, if it makes you feel any better.”

“You’re n-not drinking Scrumpy ever a-again.”

“Ah- _hem_.”

Everyone’s heads turned around to the source of the noise. Marco’s stomach dropped.

Eleanor Bodt was stood in the centre of the floodlit courtyard with a blue and white striped dressing gown knotted about her waist and a look of utter fury on her face. “What the _hell_ is going on here?” she demanded.

Marco gulped. He had the feeling that his extremely painful death was coming sooner than he thought.


	12. Then You Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updateeeee. 
> 
> Jesus, I'm very sorry for how long this chapter is: I thought I had it finished, and then decided to rewrite an entire scene and then add a new one in the make it work, so I was tapping away frantically earlier today to make sure it would get done by tonight, so I hope you like it *shakesfist*
> 
> So, we have more of Marlow being a douche (yaaaay), a heart to heart between the two dorks, and Eleanor Bodt being a badass. And more. Ehehe. 
> 
> Thank you SO much for all your lovely comments, they really motivate me to keep this going! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Marco had seen his mother angry before. She had a fiery temper, after all. When his father had left them, the only emotion Eleanor Bodt showed was rage; his father’s family still avoided her like the plague if they spotted her in the village. So, Marco had expected a degree of fury from her. He hadn’t _quite_ expected just how furious she became on discovering the group of teenagers in her stables’ courtyard, cringing in the glare of the floodlights she’d cast on them.

She had yanked Jean and Eren off their horses without a word, and shot a look to Marco in the process, silently promising that he was in trouble too when she handed the reins to him. The others parted like the Red Sea as she dragged both Jean and Eren into the courtyard by their ears amid their protests. Both boys towered over her, but found themselves bent double in pain and apologising over and over again to the little figure who was causing them such torment. It would have been funny, Marco thought, if Eleanor didn’t look so murderous.

She demanded an explanation whilst she stood in the midst of them all, still holding onto Jean and Eren like they were naughty schoolchildren. The mumbled answer eventually came from Eren and Mikasa collectively, their eyes cast away in guilt. “I’m very disappointed in all of you,” Eleanor said amid Jean’s ‘ow’s and ‘sorry’s. “I am _this_ close to calling up all your parents, and I’m sure they would love to hear what their children have been doing at two in the morning.” She gave Marco a withering look. “I for one am beyond angry with _my_ son.” Marco shrank away into the relative safety he could find between Raven and Sina. “I suggest you all go home now,” she finished, “before I change my mind.”

She released Jean and Eren and folded her arms tightly against her chest, staring each humbled face down in turn. Everyone scattered to the two cars, almost tripping over their own feet in their eagerness to escape the wrath of Mrs. Bodt. Marco was half tempted to make a run for it himself.

“Bye,” Armin muttered to Marco wretchedly as he passed him. “And, uh… good luck.” Marco gave him a weak smile, knowing he meant well, but the dread just seemed to nestle deeper inside him at his friend’s words. He was in for a world of trouble, and he knew there was no getting out of it.

The only one who didn’t move was Marlow. He was staring at Jean pointedly, and it made Marco’s stomach twist with worry. “You coming back to mine?” he asked.

Jean bit his lip and looked over to Marco, torn. Marco tried his best to look unconcerned, but his knuckles were turning white with the ferocity of his grip on the mares’ reins. _Don’t go with him_ , he found himself pleading. _You don’t need him. Don’t do it._

Jean appeared to have heard him, as he shrugged in Marlow’s direction and replied, “I better not. Maybe another time.”

Marco felt like rushing up and giving Jean a high five. Marlow, on the other hand, looked thunderstruck. “You better not?” he repeated. His gaze darkened. “What’s the matter with you? Come _on_ , sweets.”

“Are you deaf?” Marco found himself blurting out. “He said no.” He didn’t know where he’d found the courage to speak up like that, and it kind of horrified him, but he wasn’t going to back down now.

Marlow looked ready to punch him, but was stopped by his Eleanor’s voice. “Jean isn’t going anywhere,” she said. “And who are you?”

He scowled at her. “Look, I’ve had a long night. I just wanna take my boyfriend home with me. You got a problem with that?”

Eleanor didn’t flinch. “I do when your _boyfriend_ is under my employ and lives here. I also have a problem when it seems he wants to stay here and you won’t take no for an answer,” she responded.

“With all due respect, _lady_ , he’s coming with me. And your shabby little saint of a son won’t stop me.”

Marco saw his mother’s brow twitch too late. “Mum, no!” he cried uselessly as she flew at Marlow, shoving him roughly against the wall with her hands curled in his shirt. The horses shied away from the pair, and Marco had a hard time keeping them under control. She’d taken Marlow by surprise, and now the boy was staring blankly down at her from where he was pinned to the wall.

“You can insult me,” Eleanor was snarling at Marlow, “you can insult my stables. I don’t care. But insult my family and we have a problem- you understand, hot shot? You ever talk ill of my boy again and I swear it’ll be the last thing you ever do with genitals.” She gave him a little shove to make sure he got the picture. Jean was by Marco’s side in a heartbeat, and their hands fumbled together as Jean tried to take Sina’s reins from him. Marco noticed that they were shaking, and wanted nothing more than to cover them with his own.

“I’ll-I’ll get you for harassment,” Marlow hissed, eyes widening at the small woman in a stripy dressing gown bearing down on him. He was wary of her now, Marco saw with a flash of pride. No one ever underestimated a Bodt, if they could help it, and especially not Eleanor Bodt.

“Try it,” she replied silkily, “and I’ll have you done for trespass. And take your genitals for good measure.” When she was satisfied that Marlow would cause no further trouble, she let go. “I don’t want to see you around here again, do you follow? I won’t hesitate to call the police if you do decide to pay us a visit.” She then turned to Jean and Marco. “Put those horses away and get to bed, the both of you. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Marco took one last worried look at the fuming Marlow before muttering a small, “see you upstairs,” to Jean before leading Raven away. He made sure to check her pace, paying close attention to the way she settled her weight, but the mare seemed in fine shape. In fact, once Marco had taken her bridle off and bedded her down again for the night she began to snooze like nothing had happened. Full of bitter guilt and shame, Marco walked to the tack room with her bridle. As he reached it, however, the sound of hushed talking stopped him. He frowned.

“-place is full of freaks, no wonder your dad wants to grind it into the dust.”

“Don’t call them that! They’re good people!”

Jean and Marlow were arguing. Marco froze. He knew he should have left, but he couldn’t help it. Curiosity overrode the rest of his concerns as he listened more intently.

Someone snorted. “Could’ve fooled me,” Marlow replied.

The huff that followed came from Jean. “You won’t listen anyway. Whatever.”

“Oh, I’m listening alright.” Marlow’s voice was snide, venomous. “You wanna fuck that freckled shit, don’t you?” Marco flinched away from the question, panic pooling in his stomach. He did not want to hear this. He didn’t. So why was he still there, frozen solid? Jean didn’t reply at first. “Well?” Marlow demanded. The dull thud Marco heard next told him that Marlow had Jean up against the wall.

“N-no,” Jean finally managed. His breath sounded heavy and awkward.

“You hesitated,” Marlow said. “You fucking _do_ , don’t you? You wanna fuck him?”

“No, Marlow for fuck’s sake-”

“As if you could fuck anyone…” Marlow’s voice had taken on a dangerous silky tone, one that Marco didn’t like one little bit. “Would you fuck his mouth first, see how much he can take of you? I bet he moans like a whore…”

“Marlow…please…”

“Yeah, he’s definitely a begger. You like that? Someone else besides you begging for it…maybe I’ll give him a go myself. I bet I’d get him squirming.”

Marco recoiled with a strange twist in his stomach. He had a cold flash of fear at the very thought of Marlow coming near him.

“Go near him, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jean. His voice had snapped, suddenly turning poisonous and full of anger. Marco’s mute horror was replaced by something else. Jean sounded… protective.

He heard a humourless laugh from Marlow “Please, sweets, don’t make me laugh. I was just having a joke with you.”

“I’m serious,” Jean snarled. “Lay a hand on him and I’ll rip you apart.”

Another laugh. “What makes you think he’d want to be defended by someone like you? You do realise I’m the only one who’d _ever_ put up with you, right?”

There was a laboured pause. Marco’s heart was slamming into his chest. It felt like forever. “I… right. Right, you’re right,” Jean replied. The bravado was gone. His voice sounded dead.

Marco had heard enough. If he heard much more he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. Jean had just shattered into pieces and he couldn’t pick them up and put them back together- and it was blood-boiling. Slinging Raven’s bridle onto her peg with trembling fingers, he strode out of the tack room shaking with anger and nerves and everything in between.

But he had to stop. He had to look. His eyes had to land on the figures in the otherwise empty courtyard. Had to hear Marlow mutter to Jean that he put up with him because he was a good fuck, and watch the hands claw at Jean’s clothes and the pale skin beneath. Marco felt sick. He wanted to rip Marlow off Jean, scream at him to leave him alone, but he couldn’t. Things were going to get a whole lot worse, however. When Marlow forced their lips together and pulled Jean in close, he opened his eyes.

And looked directly at Marco.

Marco blanched and tried to step away, wanting nothing more to do with the boy, but Marlow’s eyes seemed to lock him in place and dare him to move. Jean hadn’t noticed he was there, and the way he was letting Marlow do what he liked made Marco want to reach out to him. Marlow gave him a shark-like grin as he continued to assault Jean’s mouth with his tongue, and with a sly glint in his eyes bit down hard on Jean’s bottom lip, earning a sudden intake of breath from the other boy. Marco couldn’t disguise the glare he sent in Marlow’s direction. Marlow’s message was clear: _He’s mine. He belongs to me. I own him._

Marco couldn’t take it anymore. Folding his arms shakily against his chest, he hissed a, “Get out,” loud enough for Jean to hear. “Get out, or I’ll call the police myself.” The barely contained fury that tumbled from his mouth felt alien and strange, and Marco marvelled at how well he kept it together. Not a quivering syllable in sight.

Jean pulled away in an instant, the sound of Marco’s voice snapping him out of whatever hold Marlow had on him. He looked mortified. Marlow however kept his usual lazy smirk. “Alright, Freckles. I’m leaving.” He patted Jean’s cheek as he passed him like one would a prized bullock, and brushed past Marco on his way out. “Remember,” he hissed, “keep off.”

Marco’s lip curled, and he stood firm, but he did nothing. He wanted to do so many things. But he just… couldn’t. Only once he was sure Marlow was gone did he loosen his arms and let them drop to his sides. He was shaking again. “We should… we should go inside,” he said, and before Jean could say or do anything Marco strode back to the house, hoping for all the bad luck in the world to go to Marlow Freudenberg on his way home.

Marco couldn’t sleep. How could he, with the events of the past half an hour running through his head? He just stared up at the ceiling, willing the morning to come quickly, when he heard a gentle knock at his door. “Yeah?” he gurgled, not even bothering to move. He hoped it wasn’t his mother; he couldn’t talk to her. He had too much to think about.

“C-can I come in?”

Marco sighed. And there it was again, the voice he couldn’t deny. He was angry with him for running the stupid race, angry with him for being with Marlow, and at the same time he just wanted to hug him. Ugh. “G-go to sleep, Jean. I’m already in trouble.”

“What, we have a curfew now?” Jean replied scathingly. Marco sighed. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all if they did. “Just…please let me in.”

The pleading edge to Jean’s tone won Marco over eventually. He padded to his door and opened it with his best attempt at a scowl, coming face to face with a still-dressed Jean. “What?” he asked. He tried to ignore how good the green shirt still looked on Jean, despite the circumstances. _He was mad at Jean_ , he reminded himself. _Very, very mad._

Jean rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at every corner of the doorway that wasn’t filled by Marco’s body. It didn’t look like Jean had even tried to sleep; the drawn expression looked more pronounced now. “Uh- hey,” he mumbled.

Marco raised a brow. “What do you want, Jean? I’m guessing you’re not here to say hello to me.”

“N-no…” Jean sighed. And then, it all spilled out. He didn’t seem to know what to say first. “Look, I just want to say how sorry I am. I’m really sorry. I swear. I’m so sorry, Marco. I shouldn’t have… there was too much alcohol, and… Eren’s a bastard, but… and Marlow was a dick to you…and earlier in the yard…”  It all came out in a single, blabbering rush, and Marco found it hard to decipher a single line of apology from Jean’s lips. He gave a small sigh, and beckoned him in.

“Are we okay?” Jean said hopefully.

“Mum might hear you if we talk in the hallway,” Marco replied stiffly.

“Oh.”

Marco retreated back to his bed, whilst Jean stood awkwardly before him, still avoiding his eye. Marco wanted to pull him onto the bed with him, and hold him close for reassurance. Jean looked so uncomfortable stood there, and Marco realised with a stab that Jean wasn’t sure he was allowed to be near him anymore. Was that because of his anger, or what Marlow had said to him? He swallowed dryly, all hints of drowsiness gone. “Jean,” he began in a softer voice, “you’re right on all counts. You shouldn’t have done anything, there _was_ a lot of drink, and… and Marlow wasn’t the nicest guy in the world.” He intentionally forgot to mention what had just happened.

Jean buried his face in his palm and sunk against Marco’s desk, groaning. The hangover looked like it was beginning to kick in. “God, I’m so sorry. If I thought he’d come I never would have-”

“It’s okay. You… you didn’t know.” Marco lowered his eyes, fixing them on the bundle of bedding clutched in his hands. Marlow had come as a shock, it was true, but he had hoped that seeing Jean happy would cure him of his feelings. If anything, Marlow had made him even worse. He wanted Jean now more than ever. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to look after him and make sure he had everything he wanted- but he was only _Marco_ , and what could he do? He tightened his grip on the sheets. The privilege fell to Marlow, and he was doing a terrible job of it.

“Um… how much did you hear back there? With… with Marlow?” Jean asked.

Marco washed a hand over his face with a sigh. “I heard enough.” He didn’t want to go into details, and it seemed like Jean didn’t want to either. He didn’t want to admit that he’d heard them talking about him. It would hurt too much to talk about. The silence was so tense Marco could have reached out and touched it.

“It’s complicated with him,” Jean said finally, cutting into the silence. His face was turned away, attention on the window and the world outside. His head was lowered, and Marco noticed the slight swelling on his lip. _Mine_ , Marlow’s voice hissed into his brain. _Mine, mine, mine._ He tried to keep himself calm. “He doesn’t mean to say what he does. He doesn’t really have a filter.”

Marco wanted to retort, but kept quiet for a little while. He watched Jean watching the stars, and swallowed dryly. “Jean, you don’t have to put up with that.”

Jean gave him a sad smile. “Yeah I do,” he mumbled.

Marco frowned. “Do you love him?”

“Love’s a strong word.” When Marco just raised his brows, asking him to continue, Jean folded his arms, leaning back on the desk. “No. No, I don’t think I do.”

“Then why are you with him?” Silence. Marco let it drop. “Jean, I promise, you’re not on your own. You won’t be on your own, not if I can help it,” he found himself saying. He mentally slapped himself. Why had he said that?

Jean frowned. “What do you mean?”

_Shit shit shit._

“Uh, w-well- oh,come and sit down, you’re forgiven that much.”

Jean’s smile got more genuine, and Marco gulped. He had until Jean sat down beside him to think of a lie. Something that wasn’t, ‘I mean that I think I might just love you’. He felt the bedsprings creak next to him too quickly. _Bugger._ “W-well because…” He huffed. He couldn’t admit it. He just couldn’t. Not yet. But there was a bit of truth he could get out. “Because you’re worth something. You’re brilliant, and I think you know you are, deep down.” Jean didn’t say anything. Marco felt the hot flashes of panic. “You have everything going for you, I swear. You don’t need people like Marlow telling you you’re not good enough, because those are lies. You won’t be alone for very long. And even if you are, I’m here. Armin’s here. Mikasa’s here. I think even Eren would be on your side after tonight. But you can’t see that, and it makes me so sad…” his voice dropped lower as he barely mumbled, “You drive me mad, Jean.”

He bit his tongue. He’d said too much. He ran a hand through his hair, imagining the look Jean was giving him at that moment, and cringed. He couldn’t slip up now. He couldn’t. “And I know it’s none of my business with you and Marlow,” he rambled, “but he doesn’t treat you right, Jean, not at all, and I don’t like seeing it. I’m sorry, it’s not my problem a-and you have every right to tell me to shut up, but-”

“You’re right about Marlow.”

Marco’s eyes darted to Jean. The other boy was looking right back at him, a weak smile on his face. “Wha- you- I am?” Marco spluttered.

Jean nodded. “Yeah. You are.”

“Th-then… if you know, why are you-?”

“I don’t know.” Jean drew his knees up to his chest. “People do stupid things, I guess…”

Marco thought back to their conversation in Titan’s stall, when Jean had smiled that sad little smile and said that only Marlow would have him. Jean was so desperate to be wanted, to be loved, that he was willing to do anything to feel those emotions- anything at all.

Marco sighed, and plucked up enough courage to rest his hand on Jean’s, letting his thumb stray across the warm, soft skin there. “I guess they do. Do stupid things, I mean. But, uh, Jean, I… I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I care too much, I know, but I just… don’t.” It could have been said a little more eloquently, but Marco never was good with words. Jean’s hand was paler than his own and slender, and the more his thumb stroked, the closer Jean shuffled to him. He ended with his head on Marco’s shoulder, but there was no television for an excuse now. Marco was used to the contact, relished it even, but in this new situation he became aware of everything; the feel of Jean’s hair against his cheek, the way Jean’s breaths seemed long enough to be sighs, it was all enough to drive him mad.

Even though he didn’t want to move an inch, he shifted awkwardly. “Sorry, I must sound like such an idiot to you,” he said.

Jean sniffed. “You don’t sound like an idiot at all,” he replied, his voice soft. It was softer than Marco had heard before, and it made his chest unbearably light to hear it. “I think we both know I’m the idiot.”

Marco shrugged, the movement bringing Jean’s hair up to tickle his nose. “Idiot or not, I’m here for you.” He felt the itch of tiredness in his eyes, and he let them slide shut. He could stay awake. He just needed to rest- or something. He knew he was lying to himself the moment he felt his head slump onto Jean’s. It felt too heavy to hold up, all of a sudden.

“Even when we’re old and ugly?” Jean asked.

“Even when we’re old and ugly.”

Jean let out a small snort of laughter, though Marco could tell that he too was getting drowsy. “I’ll still be racing horses in the dead of night when I’m eighty. I’ll be the jockey grandpa who rides by night.”

Marco chuckled, though sleep was beginning to take over. “You better bloody not. I’ll have to get out of my nursing home and beat you up with my cane.”

Jean yawned. “I’ll hold you to that. And, er, Marco?”

“Mmm?”

“…thanks.”

Marco didn’t remember when Jean fell asleep. All he remembered was the sound of snoring, and his failed efforts to tuck them both into bed. What he didn’t forget, however, was that Jean wouldn’t let go of his hand.

* * *

 

As predicted, Eleanor Bodt had her punishment all worked out for Marco and Jean. Marco had expected something utterly diabolical, but what she had in mind was even worse than he could have ever thought. She had suspended them both from being anywhere near the horses, as they ‘couldn’t be trusted to respect them accordingly’, and given them the godawful task of mucking out every last stall, steam-cleaning them afterwards, and then attending to the muck heap at the back of the yard. It had been close to overflowing for a while, and needed a bit of sorting before Eleanor could get it removed by tractor. Both Marco and his mother had been putting off the inevitable, but the opportunity had arisen and she had taken it.

Jean tried to argue with her, but Marco just got on with it. His mother had a temper, and he didn’t want to rile it any further than it was already. She still gave him fierce glares the next morning, excusing herself from the kitchen table to eat her breakfast alone in the office. Marco understood. He and Jean, however, were getting on as normal. It was as though the last night had never happened, and Marco realised that it was a common thing for them to just forget any bad feeling between each other. He was grateful, obviously, but it was a little puzzling.

They had started off with the muck heap, thinking that it would be the worst job and they should therefore get it over with quickly. But as they had stood staring up at the mountain of manure Marco felt his heart sink.

“Ugh, this is fucking bullshit,” Jean whined, plunging his pitchfork into the steaming pile of god-knows-what and grimacing. “She can’t punish us forever! And where’s Eren’s punishment, the little shit got off scot free!”

Marco was using his shovel to pack the manure together a little more securely so they would have more room for the rest of what the stalls had to offer, and grunted as he shovelled, “Trust me, she’ll try. I’ve never seen her so annoyed.”

“For fuck’s sake, she liked me,” Jean complained.

Marco grinned. “Oh, she still likes you.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why she’s making you do all this.” He shrugged, turning back to his work. “She’s treating you like how she treats me, so that means she at least thinks of you as a second cousin once removed. Tough love, you know?”

“I’m flattered.” Marco snorted at the disgust in Jean’s tone. “And, shockingly, my father doesn’t send me up a muck heap every time I misbehave.”

Marco laughed and propped his elbow on the shovel as it stood embedded in the dirty straw. “Well, we were brought up very differently. You’d have at least got sweep down duty for swearing if you were born in this house.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re so polite! You got it hammered into you.” Jean poked Marco’s ass with his pitchfork. “I knew you weren’t born that nice.”

“H-hey, you don’t know where that’s been! Don’t poke me with that!” Marco squeaked, ignoring the ache in his leg as he jumped out of the way.

Jean was smirking. “I do, it’s been stabbing horse shit all morning.”

“Ugh, Jean! Stop it!” Marco darted away again as Jean made stabbing motions with the pitchfork, a mischievous grin on his face. “No, no, don’t you dare- JEAN STOP.”

Jean was still chasing Marco around the muck heap, cackling like an idiot, when Eleanor came out to survey their progress. “Honestly!” she chastised as the two boys stopped in their tracks, “Only you two could have fun sorting out a muck heap!”

Marco pointed at Jean in an instant. “He started it,” he responded childishly.

“Oh you tattle-tale.” Jean stuck his tongue out.

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, a girl. Why didn’t I have a girl?” she said to herself, despairing.

“Because I’m your son and you love me?” Marco tried, sliding down the muck heap to wrap an arm around her.

“Oh, yes,” she said, reaching up to tap him on the nose, “how could I forget that? That’s why I put up with you.” She smiled and ruffled his hair. “You are going to need such a long soak in the bath tonight, young man.”

Marco smiled and pecked her on the cheek. He noticed Jean still stood on the muck heap, holding back and clearly not happy about it. He looked so forlorn up there Marco had to ask his mother, “Is Jean forgiven yet?”

Eleanor huffed. “Well, he is still a majorly bad influence on you…” She sized up the nervous boy with narrowed eyes, but on glancing at Marco let a smile break free. “But he also makes you smile. So he’s really not all that bad, is he?”

That seemed to be enough for Jean. He slid down the muck heap too, and walked humbly over to her. “Mrs. Bodt, I really am sorry,” he said. “I… I won’t ever do anything so stupid again, I swear it. I’ll make no trouble the rest of the time I stay here, I promise. If there’s anything I can do-”

“Oh c’mere you stupid boy,” Eleanor said, cutting a panicked Jean off mid-flow as she engulfed him in a one-armed hug. Jean let out a cry of alarm but she refused to let go, bringing both of them down to press them against her cheeks. “You’re a cute one, Jean. If only you were a girl and straight, then we could get you two married!” she tittered.

Jean flashed bright red. Marco promptly choked on air. “MUM.”

“What, I’m just saying!” 

“WELL JUST DON’T.”

She grinned and released them, causing them both to rub their sore necks. “Take a break, I’m making omelettes. Then you can go steam clean the stalls.”

“I thought you’d forgiven us,” Marco said.

“Oh, I have,” she threw over her shoulder as she made her way back to the house, “but the stalls need steam cleaning and you left me to do them last time with Erwin and Hanji. It’s only fair.”

“But muuuum-”

“No buts: do it. That goes for you too, Jean.”

Jean mock-saluted her retreating back. “Yes, ma’am,” he barked. Marco gave him a playful smack.

“Don’t mock the dragon,” he said, chuckling as he headed back to the house too, Jean following him stride for stride. The work had been hard on his leg, but at least he wasn’t limping so much. He knew Jean wouldn’t care, but he would still feel conscious about it if the other boy caught sight of it. He chanced a look at him, and Jean looked much better than he had the night before. The dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep were still there, but the outdoors had brought a colour to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Even if they had been working a muck heap for the past hour or so and stank to high heaven, Marco still couldn’t ignore the warm feeling that blossomed whenever he looked at Jean.

“You’ve forgiven me too, then?” Jean said, startling Marco out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Well, you can actually bear to look at me now.”

Marco felt his face burn. Was he really that obvious? He thought he’d been so subtle! “I- er- w-well, I-” he stopped himself, and let out a deep breath. “I was never that angry with you,” he said finally, and mentally congratulated himself for getting it out without a single stammer.

“You weren’t?” Jean asked. “You did a pretty good job of pretending to be.”

Marco smiled, and bumped him shyly with his hip. “I couldn’t ever stay mad at you.”

“Oh, is that so?” Marco felt himself blush more as he heard the sly tone Jean used. “And why is that? Am I too devilishly handsome?”

Marco grinned, his face still burning. He was surprised Jean wasn’t commenting on it. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” Marco said, impressed by how steady his voice was. “I was angry because I was worried about you. But now that’s done, so…” he shrugged.

“So, you’re not worrying about me anymore?”

Marco snorted. “Oh, you’re in my every waking thought, Jean.” His words were laced with sarcasm, but he almost laughed at how true it really was. “C-come on, let’s go inside. We have to make the most of mum being nice.”

“Yeah, alright.” Jean shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked, and Marco kept feeling his eyes on him every now and again. He refused to meet his eye, in case he started blushing like a child again. Maybe Jean was staring to make sure he’d stopped blushing. He only spoke up as they reached the door to the house. “How long do you think steam-cleaning the stalls is going to take?” he asked.

Marco paused. “Uh, I don’t know, we should be done in a few hours, why?”

“Oh, uh, no reason. Just wanted to make sure I had time for something, that’s all.”

Marco frowned, but decided not to press Jean. That didn’t mean he stopped wondering about it, though. Throughout lunch and during the tedious job of steam-cleaning, he found his mind drifting away to the realm of ‘what did Jean mean by that?’ It seemed to be almost permanently stuck there lately. Marco guessed that it might have something to do with Marlow, and the thought made his teeth grit. They hadn’t left the last night on good terms, and he was sure they had a lot to talk about.

He sighed as he leaned against the side of his stall, sparkling clean, and cursed himself. Was he being selfish? He didn’t know the ins and outs of Jean’s relationship with Marlow, and frankly he didn’t _want_ to know about it. His feelings were clouding his judgement, and that was wrong. If Jean needed Marlow, then he had to accept that. What did he know? Maybe Marlow was good for Jean, in some strange way. He huffed out through his nose. Okay, that definitely wasn’t true. He needed to stop trying to be nice about everyone he met; Marlow didn’t deserve that treatment.

“I’m done!” he heard Jean call from his stall next to him, and with a grunt he moved on.

The horses had all been turned out in the paddocks for the job, and once they had bedded down the stalls again (and this time, they did get some extra help from Eleanor and Hanji) they had the arduous task of catching them all. Most of them came quietly, but Bubbles and Squeak had Jean racing around the paddock hollering at the top of his lungs whilst Marco stood laughing by the fence with a napping Pegasus on the other end of his leadrope. Soon enough, there was only Titan and Sina left. They had put them in the paddock near the ménage that Jean and Eren had raced in the night before, and though Marco had had his doubts about his horse sharing a space with another animal he’d been proved wrong. They were grazing together at the farthest corner of the paddock, tails quivering against their haunches to ward off the summer flies. “They had to choose the end corner, didn’t they?” Jean remarked, running a hand through his hair, darkened with sweat.

“He likes that corner,” Marco replied. Then a thought struck him. “I taught him a trick a while ago. I wonder if he still remembers…”

“A trick?” Jean quirked an eyebrow.

Marco nodded, and brought his fingers up to his lips. He whistled two sharp blasts, and saw Jean flinch beside him at how piercing it was. Titan’s head shot up from grazing and focused on the two boys, nostrils flaring and ears pricking forward. And then, he whistled back. It was a slightly higher pitch of neigh, in reality, but to Marco it was a whistle, and his grin was so wide it hurt.

“Holy shit, he whistled back!” Jean said.

Marco laughed and nodded. “I wasn’t sure if he’d remember.” He whistled again, and shouted, “Come on, then!” Titan tossed his head, letting out another whistling neigh of his own, before breaking into a heavy canter towards them, putting in a high-spirited buck as he went. Jean was laughing, and it grew infectious; Marco was laughing before he even realised, and it felt good. Titan threw up his head and whistled again, his pace increasing slightly. “Come on, while I’m young!” Marco called out. “And bring your girlfriend!” Sure enough, Sina had stopped grazing to watch the older and larger black horse frolic ahead of her, and at her mention kicked up her heels and tore after her companion, ears rotating as she moved.

The two horses dropped down to snappy trots as they neared their owners, Titan’s head snaking down to butt Marco squarely in the stomach. “Oof, yeah, thanks Titan,” he spluttered, stroking a hand down the bridge of the gelding’s nose as he moved to put on his headcollar with trembling fingers. “Good boy.”

“I can’t believe he came to you like that!” Jean said, slipping Sina’s own headcollar over her delicate ears. “When did you teach him that?”

“When I first got him,” Marco replied, smiling as he clipped the leadrope onto Titan’s headcollar and started to lead him forwards to the gate. “He was really badly behaved, especially in the paddock. He’d always bolt if you tried to bring him in, so I trained him to come to my whistle.”

Jean chuckled. “So cool,” he replied. “You’ll have to teach me how to make Sina do that.”

They walked back to the stables steadily, chatting about nothing in particular as the horses followed them calmly. Marco wondered if it wrong to be so happy doing such a normal thing with Jean, as he laughed at Sina nibbling the corner of Jean’s shirt and leaving a disgusting trail of green slime there. “Oh,” Jean said as he swung Sina’s stable door open to lead her in. Marco grabbed it to stop it from swinging back, and he smiled a thanks before continuing, “don’t go straight in, okay? Stay with Titan a while, I need to check something out.”

Marco frowned. “You need to check something out on the stables I live on? And I can’t?”

Jean gulped. “W-well yeah. You’ll get it when you see. Go on. Gimme ten minutes.”

Marco wanted to question him, but he gave in with a chuckle at the earnest expression on Jean’s face. “Fine, fine, call for me when you want me,” he said, shutting the door behind Jean and Sina as they disappeared into the confines of the stall. “But if you’re going to show me a dead dormouse or something, I don’t want to know!”

“Aw c’mon man that was one time!”

Marco laughed, but he had to admit he was confused as he led Titan back to his stall. What was Jean playing at? Obviously, Marco’s thoughts went straight back to Marlow. Maybe he wanted to call him, or he was planning on meeting him without Eleanor knowing. Another option that swum into his mind was that Jean was bringing Marlow there to apologise. It seemed the sort of thing for Jean to do, but Marco didn’t want to hear it. He was usually too lazy to bear grudges, but Marlow’s was one that would stick with him for quite some time.

Titan tossed his head as they walked, and Marco shushed him. The giant horse barely bothered him anymore; there were times where he would jerk his head a little too quick, or would swing his haunches out when he was getting impatient, and those moments would fire panic into Marco’s system. But for the most part, he was calm with the gelding. Jester popped his head over his stable door to whicker a greeting to the bigger horse as he was led past, and Marco smiled when Titan rumbled a reply back at him. “Making friends again too, are we?” he said, unclipping the leadrope as Titan walked happily into his stall. “Is Sina a good influence on you?” He set to giving Titan a quick rub down whilst he was waiting, his chest becoming a little tight as he began to let his anxiety run away with him and jump to all the wrong conclusions. By the time he heard Jean shouting for him (his heart slamming into his throat in the process), Titan was gleaming. “H-hang on!” he called back, nearly tripping over his feet as he reached the stable door. _Dork, dork, dork._

Once he was sure the door was bolted tight, he started to walk back around to the courtyard, trying his best to still his breathing. It would be fine. It would be normal.

_If it’s Marlow I’m going to punch him in the face._

Marco smacked himself. He was listening out for the low mutterings of Jean and Marlow, but when he heard nothing except the normal horse noises he frowned. Jean was either keeping his boyfriend insanely quiet or-

He turned the corner and stopped dead.

Jean was stood in the middle of the courtyard holding a fully tacked up Champ by the reins. The old horse blew through his nose and champed at the bit between his teeth, hind leg resting idly as he waited. Jean smiled sheepishly at Marco. “Ta-daa.”

Marco stared blankly at him. Then he took a step back.

Jean’s face fell. “H-hey, don’t-” Jean began, but Marco shook his head.

“I can’t, Jean. I c-can’t,” he said, horror flooding his body.

“Yes you can!” Jean beckoned him over. “Come on. You’re going to ride today.”

The very words made Marco feel faint. He stayed where he was. “J-Jean, I really don’t think I can.”

Jean sighed. He left Champ where he was, gently dozing, and walked over to Marco. Marco was tempted to back away again, but the way Jean approached him like a frightened animal was more reassuring than he ever thought possible. “Marco… I know you can do this,” Jean said. “I’m not asking you to jump on and start galloping him over combinations. You don’t even have to move on him if you don’t want to. Just sit on him, get a feel for it again, and we can go from there.” He reached out a hand, hesitated, then took hold of Marco’s. Marco felt a rush of warmth consume him, and swallowed painfully. “I chose Champ for a reason, Marco. He’ll look after you. I didn’t throw you straight onto Titan. Just…” he squeezed his hand gently, “be brave. I’ll be right next to you. Hell, I’ll even lead you around if you want me to.”

Marco looked from Jean to Champ, then back again. He sighed. “O-okay,” he said, his voice trembling almost as bad as he was. Jean squeezed his hand again as he led him back over to where Champ was stood patiently Marco tried not to walk too close to him. “H-hey Champ,” he said, laying a hand on the old gelding’s neck. Champ shook himself and looked at Marco, and when he saw those wide, trusting brown eyes he knew he had nothing to worry about.

“C’mon, let’s go into the arena,” Jean said, and before Marco knew it they were walking forward, Champ’s pace a little slower than he was used to. He found it odd that Jean’s hand hadn’t left his. He figured that it was Jean’s little way of trying to comfort him. He appreciated it, even if it was giving him heart palpitations.

“Okay,” Jean said as he drew the gate across and walked back to them, “seeing as Champ’s so small you can probably mount from the ground. You alright with that?”

Marco nodded, even though he wasn’t at all. He didn’t know how his injured leg was going to cope with the whole leg swinging over the horse’s back thing, but he didn’t voice it. He just bit his lip as Jean ran Champ’s stirrups down. It was an old saddle, the one Marco had used to ride Champ when he was younger, and though it was battered and discoloured it was still the most comfortable saddle he’d ever sat in. That comforting thought led him to taking the reins in one hand and placing his good leg in the stirrup. He winced, waiting for Champ to shy, to bolt, to bite, but the old horse just stood there, ears slightly back to listen to Jean’s idle chatter as he walked back to Marco’s side. Their eyes met, and Marco wanted to say that he wanted to back out, that he wasn’t sure, that he was scared out of his mind. But Jean’s easy-going smile silenced him. He had one hand on the saddle, and rested his other on Marco’s shoulder. That touch was enough. The trembles didn’t stop entirely, but they certainly calmed down. “You ready?” he asked, soft and sure. “I can go hold his head for you.”

Marco gulped. “Y-yeah please.” He knew it was stupid to even bother; Champ wouldn’t move, even if a bomb went off next to him, but it was more for his peace of mind, and he was sure Jean knew it.

Jean gave him an encouraging smile. “Go on,” he said, “I got him.”

Marco rested his head against the warm, cracking saddle leather and exhaled slowly. He could do this. He could. Even if he didn’t believe it himself, Jean did. He was stood there, trusting and steady, and Marco was left with the overwhelming feeling that he couldn’t let him down. He set his teeth, straightened up, and swung his leg over the saddle. He winced at a particularly painful twinge in his leg as he settled into the saddle, and it caused Jean to ask in sudden panic, “S-shit, you alright?” He darted from Champ’s head to his off side in a heartbeat.

Marco nodded, biting back the grimace. “J-just… my leg…”

“Is it okay?” Jean’s face was flooded with concern. It made something flare inside of Marco. “Sorry, I didn’t think that through… er… maybe you should have a longer stirrup leather on this side to get used to it…” Jean nudged Marco’s leg aside as gently as he was able to fumble with the straps, and Marco tried to ignore the way his leg tingled against Jean’s hand. He blushed furiously and tucked his head into his chest.

_Not now, not now, stop it._

And then reality hit him. He was sat on a horse for the first time in three years.

Champ was slimmer than Titan, and Marco could feel every breath he made beneath him. Champ was standing far quieter than Titan ever had too, and seemed completely bored with the whole thing. The copper coat wasn't shining or sleek, but it was comforting and homely. Marco smiled. Jean couldn't have made a better choice; he really did pay attention. He patted Champ tenderly, trying his best not to look at Jean- he knew that wasn't going to help him. He was either going to turn redder or blurt something stupid out. He just kept his gaze on the slender shoulders of the horse beneath him, and trying to get used to the feel of it.

"Okay, I think we're good," Jean said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Marco had to admit that it felt better; his leg wasn't hurting as much as it had been now it was hanging a little looser. He bit his lip and finally glanced at Jean. "I'm...I'm on a horse," he said, scarcely daring to believe it. He wanted to laugh with how ridiculous that sounded.

Jean grinned. "Yeah, you are. You alright?"

Marco sighed. "I... I am, yeah. I'm better than I thought I'd be."

Jean's grin, if it were possible, grew wider. Marco was sure he'd never seen him looking so excited. "You wanna-?"

Marco nodded eagerly, the old enthusiasm suddenly returning with a three year vengeance. "You think I'll be able to?" he asked. "I mean, it's been a while..."

Jean scoffed. "Marco, Marco, Marco. Relax. It's just like riding a bike- you never forget."

Marco looked to Champ, and saw the old horse's ears slant forward slightly as he shifted in the saddle. He had always been the kind of rider who sat quietly on a horse, so much so that they often behaved like he wasn't on them at all. He wasn't sure if that was still going to be the case, though. "W-will you walk by me?" he said nervously. He felt like an idiot for asking. But when Jean smiled and nodded, he felt something inside of him settle. He took a deep breath, gathered up the reins, and nudged Champ with his heels. "W-walk on, boy," he said, his voice wobbling.

For a moment he thought Champ was going to ignore him. But then, the gelding started to move. Marco moved without having to consciously think about it, his knees instantly holding a firm grip against the saddle and his hands staying stock still in front of him. Champ's stride was slow and languid, making it easy for Marco to coax himself back into the rhythm of it. Jean was only partly right; some of Marco's muscles were moving in ways they hadn't in a while, and he could feel them creaking into life. He rode stiffly at first, his initial thought still on the possibility of falling off, but he soon felt his legs relaxing and no longer gripping the saddle quite so tightly. His entire lower body began to loosen up, and he was sure that he would soon start rocking in the saddle like a cowboy with how relaxed he was getting. Jean was walking by the side of him, his strides keeping up easily with Champ's slow amble, and he was talking encouragingly to him the entire time. Things like, "keep going", and, "that's great, you're doing really well!" and the clincher, "I told you you can't just forget these things!" He sounded as excited as Marco felt, and he was grateful for it.

They took an entire circuit of the arena at a walk, Marco almost entirely relaxed by then. Champ was getting into a usual pace too; his head was bobbing a little more energetically, and he took to shaking his head at times to loosen the hold on him. "See, you're doing great, keep it going!" Jean said as they hit their starting point.

Marco looked down at his reins, the smile threatening to split his face. "I want to trot him," he said simply.

The look Jean gave him was the sort of childish happiness Marco saw on the six year olds he took out on walk outs. "Be my guest, the floor is yours," he said, indicating to the empty arena. "You'll be alright."

Marco bit his lip as his eyes met the expanse of ground before him. There was no fear there now; it was pure exhilaration, and as he clicked his tongue and nudged Champ's sides again, the horse broke into a steady trot with a grumbling snort. Marco rose to it immediately, remembering which stride to sit to. His leg twinged, but he scarcely cared. Champ began to pull at the reins a little, ears flicking forward as they rounded the first turn, and Marco let out a breathless chuckle. The knowledge came rushing back, the knowledge he thought he'd locked away in the darkest corners of his mind to never be looked at again, but there it was, sitting and waiting. He didn't want the emotion to get to him, but he soon found himself blinking back tears as he gave Champ a gentle pat mid-trot.

He was doing it.

He was riding.

He was actually riding.

And he wasn't afraid.

He encouraged Champ on faster, so that soon the gelding had such a lengthened stride he was almost cantering, and he couldn't help laughing. He didn't know why he was laughing; it was either that or crying, he guessed. He couldn't even try to comprehend the immense happiness that welled up in him. And he knew that the reason for this was the boy who stood by the gate of the arena, hands in his pockets and grin infectious.

The surge of happiness and warmth Marco was suddenly bowled over with seemed to make him physically hurt, and in that moment he couldn’t even hide the affection he had blossoming around him. He felt so happy and safe and _right_ , and he knew that it was because of Jean. All of it. He knew that words would completely fail him. He stopped thinking. He stopped worrying. He stopped everything. He just did what he had wanted to do for the better half of a month.

He rode Champ up the centre line of the arena towards Jean, heart racing, and as he slowed to a walk and Jean reached up to grab the reins, he kicked his feet out of the stirrups, slid off Champ's back, and without a moment's hesitation put a hand to Jean's face and crushed their lips together. _Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEHE HOUSTON WE HAVE KISS OFF FOLKS MWAHAHA.
> 
> I hope you look forward to next week! :D Also, super sorry it's a cliff-hanger again ugh I'm trash. I'm sorry.


	13. Start Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herpaderpa derpderpderp. :D
> 
> I'm so sorry I left the last chapter on a cliffhanger dear Christ, but here's the next one! And there's no cliffhanger so yay!  
> So in this we've got Marco being a dork, Jean being an even BIGGER dork and Armin who is 1000% done. There's a lot of fluffy feels goin' on I think, so hold onto your hats. 
> 
> By the way, I keep forgetting to mention this, but I have a tumblr :D it's hereeee: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/ so if you want to see the attack on titan stuff I find and squee about, there you go. And there's occasional rants on how the updates are going so :P
> 
> Enjoy this, and you know how much I love your feedback! :D

In Marco’s head, he was sweeping himself against Jean with all the grace of a romantic lead. But in reality, he kissed him clumsily, his enthusiasm causing their teeth to clash together and Jean to grab at him to steady himself. That hardly stopped him, though; he kept his eyes shut stubbornly as he softened his lips against Jean’s as best as he was able. He hadn’t kissed that many people in his life, and he wasn’t even sure if he was doing it right, but he was scared and happy and in love and shaking all at once, and he wasn’t really thinking straight. He just stood there, trying to kiss Jean with every fibre of his being and really not sure if he should let go or not because what if they needed to breathe or something oh god.

But then, Jean kissed him back.

His response was softer, less insistent and more controlled, and it steadied Marco. The grip on his shirt got gentler as Jean tilted his head a little, smoothing his lips against Marco’s in a way that made it obvious that at least one of them knew what they were doing. Marco sighed out through his nose, opening his mouth to Jean’s gentle coaxings, and without even realising soon found himself pressed against the arena fence with Jean bearing down on him. There was no force to it, though; Jean’s lips tickled the corners of Marco’s mouth softly, tenderly, and Marco could feel hands threading themselves through his hair. He shuddered, bringing his own hands up to tentatively rest against the other boy’s face as he felt himself arch against him. A little breath escaped Jean. Marco’s stomach sparked. He was trembling again, but it wasn’t fear this time. He knew that much.

This couldn’t be happening…could it?

Jean definitely hadn’t kissed him back. He definitely wasn’t running his thumb against the freckles near his ears, or running his tongue along his lower lip like he was asking him for permission… and he definitely _wasn’t_ then slipping said tongue into his mouth…

The sudden little murmur that Marco heard spilling out of his own mouth without warning was what brought him back down to earth with an ungraceful bump. He pulled away rather forcefully, and was reminded of a diver surfacing after a particularly long time underwater. He stared down at Jean, and the weight of what he’d just done suddenly hit him like a tonne of bricks. Jean was looking at him with the same soft expression he’d seen on him so many times, and he realised with a jolt that maybe Jean had wanted to kiss him for a while. Maybe as long as Marco had wanted to kiss Jean. He shook himself free of the thoughts as another face appeared in his mind, one with an olive glare and a fiery temper. He gulped. _Marlow._ “Marco?” Jean was asking, his face creased in confusion.

He shook his head wordlessly and stepped to the side to avoid the piercing gaze. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.

_He’s with Marlow. You’re selfish. How do you know you’re good enough for him? How do you know if you’re actually gay or whether you’re just in some phase? Jean deserves more than you. He probably kissed you back out of pity._

“Marco, what-?”

“J-Jean, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Marco took another step back, still shaking his head. His trembles now were definitely out of fear.

 Jean was frowning properly now. “Marco, it’s alright,” he said, holding up a hand. “Just… just calm down, you don’t have to apologise…”

“I do though. I do.” Marco gulped again. “I’m sorry, Jean, I’m sorry, I’m…” he choked on his words and shook his head again, realising it was better if he just kept quiet. All he’d do was apologise; apologise and try to kiss him again, and he couldn’t do that. Instead, he backed away enough to pick up Champ’s trailing reins and hold them close to his chest, his breathing slow but shallow. “Th-thank you so much, I… I have to… go put Champ away…”

“Marco?” Jean walked a little closer, his hand still held out like Marco would bite him if he got too close, and Marco could see the hurt and confusion in the other boy’s eyes. The amber-fire flashed. “Marco, it’s fine. It’s alright.”

Marco bit his lip and fixed his attention wholeheartedly on the reins he clasped tightly to his chest. His mouth went dry, and he could barely speak. This was what he’d dreaded. He didn’t want this to happen. “Please, Jean. I need to put Champ away,” he said softly.

He heard Jean gulp. That one little sound almost broke him. “M-Marco, please…”

“J-Jean…” Marco shut his eyes, a ragged sigh ripping free of his lungs. “I have to go…” And, even though it seemed to physically hurt to do it, Marco opened the gate to the arena and led Champ out, not casting another look back over his shoulder. He wanted to run away. He wanted to reverse everything and control himself. Now he’d messed everything up.

He practically dragged Champ back to his stable, and once they were inside and secured he let his held in breath out in shaking, quivering rushes, pressing his head to the back of the stall to steady himself. The weight of what he’d just done hit him like a kick to the guts. Why had he done that? Why, why, why? Everything was just fine, everything was normal, he was normal, and now what? What was he now? He wasn’t sure what the answer to that was anymore, and Jean was stuck in the middle. The butterflies in his stomach were still fluttering angrily, deprived of release, and he gritted his teeth. He hadn’t wanted this to happen. He never asked… he never dared _hope_ …

He felt a sudden weight behind him, and realised that Champ was nuzzling him between his shoulder blades. Sure enough, a heavy whicker of concern came from the old gelding a moment later, and Marco turned to lay a hand on his nose. “What have I done, Champ?” he asked the chestnut, running his hand up the horse’s face. “What have I done?” He knew exactly what he’d done. He’d messed everything up. Jean was his first proper friend he’d had in years, a friend he felt he could really confide in, someone who was always around and always there. But he wasn’t allowed to be with Jean, he told himself. He wasn’t. Why would he be allowed, when there were other people out there who weren’t quivering wrecks like him? Jean was with someone already, and Marco had just blundered in and ruined everything.

His mind began to roil with the idea that Jean would only be getting hurt over this, that he had got him confused, and how he might not want to stay at the stables anymore if things got too awkward. He had to steady his breathing again as he thought about it. He didn’t want Jean to leave. Not one little bit.

Champ nuzzled him again, and Marco continued to fuss over him, breaking out of his trance enough to untack the horse with fumbly, shaky hands. He almost drew blood as he slipped against the girth buckles, and cursed. There was no sound outside, and Marco let out a sigh of relief; at least Jean understood that he needed time alone. Somehow, that made him feel even worse.

Being the pathetic idiot that he was, Marco hid out in Champ’s stall until he was sure that Jean wouldn’t be around to bump into, and he practically bolted from the yard to his house and then to his room. His mother was sat at the kitchen table, but she didn’t question him. She was probably too busy dealing with the accounts and finances, Marco reasoned as he tore up the stairs and reached his room in a couple of strides. He was behind his door and gasping for breath before he knew it, his leg complaining irritably through the aches and pains it was giving him. He sank to his floor, and held his head in his hands. He’d messed everything up. The only thing Marco could think at that moment, as he ran his hands back through his hair and tried to steady his pulse, was: What now?

+++

The one problem about avoiding someone was that if you lived with them, it was nigh on impossible. No matter what you tried, you were bound to bump into them eventually. Marco was all too aware of that, but his fear for how Jean would react was crippling him so much that he found himself thinking through ways of staying as far away as possible from the other boy. He didn’t want to risk the inevitable awkward moment where they would cross in the hallway, or meet in the kitchen for breakfast. The very thought of it sent his stomach into mini spasms of panic. He couldn’t see him yet. He just couldn’t.

The terrifying truth of the matter was that he couldn’t deny his feelings for Jean anymore. You don’t exactly storm up to your best friend and kiss him like your life depends on it, even if he has gotten you back in the saddle for the first time in three years. But the soft lips he’d got in response to his scared, feverish attempt at romance had spun his head into a frenzy of warmth and butterflies. It was enough to make Marco scream.

He was confused. He was conflicted. He was being an idiot. And that was why he had to talk to someone about it. And Marco knew just the person.

Marco made sure to wake up the next morning earlier than usual, pulling on his clothes hurriedly and checking the time on his phone to make sure he was definitely going to miss Jean. He hated how relieved he was when he saw that he had an hour or so before Jean even thought about getting up. He tried to remind himself that it was for the best, that all he was going to do was hurt Jean and annoy him, but he couldn’t help feeling hollow at the thought of not seeing him. He squashed the feelings back down, and rifled through his wardrobe as quietly as he could manage, muttering darkly to himself. _You’re selfish, you’re wrong, you’re stupid. You’re selfish, you’re wrong, you’re stupid,_ his mind seemed to repeat back to him, like it was an irritating song on an infinite loop. Finally, he found what he was looking for. Dashing from his bedroom and narrowly avoiding a smash against the banister of the stairs, his black riding hat swung from the hand that wasn’t steadying himself down the steep stairs.

He left a note on the kitchen table to let his mother know that he was taking Champ for a walk to work his muscles. He led out the old horse without any hesitation, and tacked him up on autopilot, barely noticing that Champ was wheezing in protest at the tightness of the girth. He was too busy trying not to think about what had gone on in the yard the day before, and the way he’d wanted to stay pressed against that fence forever. He shook himself. He was about to lead Champ to the mounting block when he heard a low, rumbling neigh. He paused. _Titan._ Why was he making such a racket? Frowning, he left Champ where he was and moved back towards the larger stalls, curiosity getting the better of him. Titan rumbled again, and the voice he heard made him stop in his tracks.

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that, c’mon. You know me.”

It was Jean. Clearly, he’d decided to rise early too. Marco felt his mouth go dry, and flattened himself against the stable block, trying to still his frantic breaths. He debated on going back to Champ, on getting onto him and getting the hell out of there, but he had to admit, hearing Jean’s voice had rooted him to the spot. He heard another rumble, only softer this time, and a weak chuckle. “There, see? Nothing to worry about, it’s just me, Bumble.” A snort. “Look, I know I don’t talk to you that often. Fuck, I must be going nuts. Does this count as insanity, talking to horses? I don’t know, ugh, this is fucked up.” A pause. “Don’t you mock me.”

Marco peered around the corner just enough to see the profile of Titan butting Jean in the chest, his lip curling like he had caught an interesting scent on the breeze, and Jean’s very weak, very watery smile in response. Marco’s heart dropped.

“I think I’ve royally fucked up, Bumble,” Jean was saying in a hushed voice, every word quivering where it hung in the air. “I didn’t want to, but I think I have.”

Marco frowned. Jean… thought he had messed up?

“You and I both know how much of a twat I can be, right? But I think I topped it last night. I just… I- I shouldn’t have pushed him, Titan… I pushed him too far, and I think I’ve lost him.” Jean was leaning his head against Titan’s now, and if the shaking in his shoulders was anything to go by, Marco was sure he was holding back _tears_. “I just… I can’t lose him, Titan. I can’t. And if I’ve scared him away, then **_fuck,_** what am I gonna do?” He sniffled and tickled Titan’s sensitive nose with shaking fingers. “I don’t want to be without him, Titan. I fucking _need_ him. So, I dunno, pray to your fucking horse gods for him to forgive me, okay? ‘Cus if I can only have him as a friend, then… then I guess that’s better than nothing…”

If anything else hadn’t succeeded in breaking Marco’s heart, Jean’s words ripped it to shreds. He took a step back, breath hitching in his throat and refusing to come out. Had Jean actually said that? Really?

Marco worried away at his lip with his teeth, deliberating. He straightened up, took a deep breath, and…

+++

“…so you legged it?” Armin said, unimpressed.

Marco groaned, and buried his head in the dust-laden copy of _The Equestrian’s Almanac._ Armin’s shift at the bookshop was still in full swing, and he’d taken refuge in the musky interior once Armin had gotten over the initial shock of seeing him trot towards him on Champ. Naturally, Marco had had some explaining to do, and now all Armin could do was give him one of those judgemental, ‘you’re a fucking idiot’ stares. He had been hanging out with Mikasa for too long; he had the look down to an art. He’d at least been courteous enough to rustle up a chair for Marco to slump into, even if it was old and dangerously creaky. “Of course I legged it! What was I supposed to do, stand there like an idiot?” Marco said, trying to focus on the page he was sure he’d read a thousand times. “He didn’t even know I was there!”

“You legged it,” Armin said bluntly.

Marco huffed and hid his face in the book again. “You’re not good at advice, Armin.”

“Well, I thought it was obvious.” Marco squinted at the blonde as he climbed a ladder to replace the handful of old Dickenses he’d managed to sell an hour before.

“Obvious?”

Armin rolled his eyes. “You’re so dense. The both of you. I don’t know who’s worse: Jean for being an oblivious imbecile or you for being oblivious to _yourself_.”

Marco frowned up at him. That smarted. “How am I being oblivious to myself?” he asked.

“Oh my God.” Armin huffed, and started down the ladder to retrieve more books. “From what you’ve told me, I think it’s pretty obvious that Jean likes you too.”

“Wh-what?!”

Armin looked like he was debating on hitting Marco with the book in his hand. “He kissed you back, Marco. I think that’s a pretty good indicator. And by the way he was talking with Titan… well it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it? So, he likes you back. So… what’s the problem?”

Marco blinked at him. What was the problem? What was the _problem_? Jean was his best friend! He was the guy who was helping him overcome his fear, teaching him how to handle his nerves, being there for him when no one else was… he gulped. “Armin, what if I’m not like that?”

“What do you mean?” Armin hadn’t even turned around this time.

“Not… you know. Not _gay_.” Marco set the book down now, and was wringing his hands. It sounded so awful once he’d said it, as though he thought it was a problem if he was, and he could already see the little crease between Armin’s brows appearing. That only appeared when his friend was annoyed. Shit.

Armin gave out a little sigh. It sounded tired. “Marco… I’m going to be honest with you. I wasn’t exactly… shocked when you told me you think you like Jean. You were kinda obvious.”

Marco felt ice cascade into his stomach. “O-obvious?” he questioned.

Armin shrugged, turning back to the shelves. “Well, yeah. You and him stuck up for each other pretty quick, you’ve suddenly seemed a lot happier, and- well, sometimes you look at him like you’ve discovered a gold mine.” Armin offered him a small smile over his shoulder. “It’s pretty cute.”

Marco groaned and hid his face, his cheeks suddenly on fire with how much he was blushing. “What?! N-no, I didn’t know I was that obvious, oh God I’m such an idiot…”

Armin chuckled. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it. If it makes you feel any better, Jean trails after you like a puppy all the time.”

Marco groaned again. _That really, really didn’t help._ “He has a boyfriend though,” he whined.

“Yeah, but newsflash, the guy’s a dick.” Armin tapped Marco on the head with a particularly hefty volume of Tolstoy. “He wouldn’t go far wrong if he left that guy in the lurch and started seeing you. It sounds like he’s seriously considering it anyway. You two are clearly good for each other, Jean’s only started two arguments since he’s been around you and believe me that’s a new record.”

Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair and ruffling the already unruly mop from where he’d worn the riding hat. “I just… I dunno, Armin. I’ve never done this before, not with anyone, I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

Armin shrugged again. “You freaked out. It’s only natural. Anyone can freak out, even if they like what they’re hearing. The idea of being with someone is a scary thing, but you’ll figure it out. Everyone does.” He shelved the last few books and turned back to Marco. “Just be honest with yourself.” When Marco avoided his eyes, he sighed. “Look at me.”

“Armin-?”

“Look. At. Me. Come on.”

Marco sighed, and did. “What?”

The smaller boy was crouched next to him, his eyes shockingly blue and fixed on him. Marco felt his cheeks itch consciously with the strength of the stare Armin was giving them. “Marco, do you like Jean?” he asked.

Marco bit his lip. He nodded.

“Do you want to be with him?”

Marco paused. “M-more than anything.”

“Then, what does it matter? You can’t limit yourself by slapping a label on your chest and saying that’s it,” Armin said, hopping up on the sale desk. “That’s like saying you’ve never eaten vegetables before, but after eating one carrot and liking it you claim you’re vegetarian. Don’t get bogged down in the details if that worries you.”

Marco wrinkled his nose. “That’s a weird metaphor to use.”

“I was thinking on my feet,” Armin huffed. “Look, Jean’s probably the best thing that’s happened to you in a while. I mean it. And I think you should make a go of it.”

Marco gulped. He wanted to. He really, really wanted to. But he was so scared; scared of messing it up, scared of what it would mean, scared of hurting Jean… but the thought suddenly returned to him that Jean might have been feeling all of those things too. He didn’t know Marco felt the same way, not totally anyway- and from what Marco had overheard, Jean seemed to think that it had been his fault and he had coerced Marco into doing something he didn’t want to do. _Oh, if only he knew._ But Armin was right; everyone got scared of new things, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try. He’d just admitted to Armin that he wanted to be with Jean, so what was stopping him?

Nothing, he realised. Nothing was stopping him, except his nerves.

“You better hurry up, though,” Armin said, wandering back to his post. “If Jean thinks you’re uncomfortable around him, or god forbid you hate him, he’ll be trying to talk your mum out of living with you.”

Marco’s eyes snapped open. “What?!” Horror flooded through him at the very thought. Jean not being around the house was as alien a thought to him as his father coming back. He couldn’t imagine Jean not waking him up in the morning, or throwing toast crusts at him over breakfast, or snuggling down together watching a film in the early hours of the morning. The stables was often so busy that they never had the chance to see each other in the day; if Jean hadn’t have been staying with them, Marco was sure he never would have gotten so close to him. That thought twisted in his gut. “Y-you think he’d do that?”

“You know Jean,” Armin said. “If he gets awkward enough, he’ll do anything.”

Marco gulped. Yes, he did know Jean, and yes that sounded a lot like him. He grimaced. “I might… I might have to… go…” he said, scraping his chair from underneath him as he stood up. “I’ll see you later, Armin.”

Armin smiled, turning back to his books. “See you, Marco. And remember what I said- don’t overthink things. Just do what you think is right.” Armin paused, and before Marco reached the door added, “Oh, and also! You better start riding Titan again soon: I don’t think Champ’s used to trotting for longer than a few strides.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha ha.”

“Good luck!” Armin grinned at him as he left, and Marco kept his smile as he stepped outside and untethered Champ. Armin was right, on all counts. Besides, he could lunge Titan now, and be about him without bringing on any sort of terror… maybe riding Titan wouldn’t take as long as he thought.

He took the ride back to the stables carefully, making sure that Champ was going at his own pace after racing him in a panic to Armin’s. Still, if he was able he would have been galloping the whole way home. He hoped Jean wasn’t being too hasty and had already tried to leave. He had a feeling his mother wouldn’t let Jean go without a fight- at least not until he’d given his reasons. If it came to that, Marco hoped Jean would be true to himself and lie through his teeth; he didn’t want his mother to hear anything he hadn’t yet heard himself.

_Oh God, you’re already overthinking things, stop it. Remember what Armin said._

He coaxed Champ a little faster up the hill to the stables, heart thumping almost painfully in his chest as the old horse panted and puffed. His second ride after three years wasn’t meant to be so strenuous, he knew, but he could hardly help it. He rode on through the twinges in his leg, trying his best to keep it still and not curled around Champ’s belly like he wanted to. Jean was right about one thing- you never could forget how to ride a horse. It felt like he was returning to it after a week or so, his aching muscles the only tell-tale sign to the contrary. As Champ began to struggle, Marco immediately leant forward in the saddle to keep his weight off the chestnut’s hind legs. Champ’s heavy breathing ceased a fraction, and his pace became less wavering and jaunty. Marco relaxed, and gave Champ a small pat. “G-good boy,” he said, smiling despite feeling himself sliding helplessly into a state of panic as the entrance to the stables loomed overhead. He wondered where Jean was; would he be teaching right now, or would he be helping with the chores? He couldn’t be certain. He felt the cold tickles of fear in his muscles as he let Champ’s reins fall through his fingers, allowing the old gelding his head as he tramped triumphantly into the courtyard, blowing heavily.

He looked around, and the tickles increased in severity. He couldn’t see Jean anywhere. Hanji was taking a lesson in the arena with a group of girls slightly younger than Mikasa, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in the yard at all. He dismounted with a frown, running up his stirrup leathers absently as he continued to cast wary glances around him. Where was Jean? What time was it? It wasn’t Saturday, so he didn’t need to get ready to go home…

He checked his phone. 3 o’ clock. Jean would usually be running menial jobs in the yard before taking his lesson at 4. So where was he?

“He’s taken Sina out for a hack, and took Big Black and Handsome too,” came his answer. “Should be on the green about now.”

Marco spun around to see Hanji leaning on the fence, her charges cantering around in all directions. Hanji was doing collaborative riding with them, and that never tended to end well. It was a wonder none of them had crashed into each other yet. “O-oh?” Marco asked.

“I’m assuming you wanna know where Jeanny boy is.” Hanji offered him a lazy smile. “He’s in a crapper of a mood, though. Didn’t even mock me when I suggested he tie ivy around Magic’s legs to ward off the mud fever. And he took your baby to ‘stretch his legs’. Something’s deeeeefinitely up. Not stealing him is he, Marco?”

Marco resisted the urge to groan. “D-does he really look bad?” he asked in earnest.

“Jean always _looks_ like he’s swallowed a cowpat, but… I guess more cow-pattier than usual?” She beamed at him.

Marco was tempted to defend Jean, but decided against it. He did have an awful ‘neutral face’. “When did he leave?”

“Boooout ten minutes ago, give or take?” Hanji’s eyes glittered as she leaned closer. “Something up, Marco?”

Marco attempted a weak grin. He was definitely not going to inform Hanji of anything pertaining to his personal life. She already knew way too many embarrassing childhood stories, courtesy of Eleanor. He didn’t need her to hold _this_ on him too. “N-not really, just wanna see him. Can I leave Champ here?”

“Champ? What do you mean Cha-OHO.” Hanji’s eyes had zeroed in on the tacked up Champ. They bulged. “OHO,” she said again.

“Hanji-”

“MARCO _FUCKING_ BODT, YOU DID NOT JUST RIDE THAT HORSE, DID YOU?”

“Now is not the time!” Marco was practically bouncing on his heels. “Can I leave him here? Will you sort him out?”

She grinned and turned back to her group after hearing a scream from one of the riders. “Okay, but I want details mister! Lots and lots of details!”

“I promise!” Marco yelled over his shoulder as he tethered Champ to the nearest rung and darted away. He didn’t promise. He never promised Hanji anything. He had a feeling she knew that.

Getting up to the green was hard work. Marco’s leg protested the entire way, and Marco regretted leaving Champ back at the stables. The horse may have been tired, but he could have still gotten him up the hill faster. The green was a large, flat space where Marco had once used as his own personal gallops with Titan. The grass was springy and lush, and as the land was technically owned by them there was rarely anyone else around. Marco swallowed painfully as he looked about him. _‘Rarely’ being the operative word. You only need one out of the ordinary thing to start an accident._

He shook himself, trying to avoid the memories, and instead searched for Jean anywhere around. The green was so flat that on a clear day you could see for miles, but today was proving difficult. Marco squinted against the sunlight, and he felt the familiar hiccup as his eyes landed on a small liver chestnut-and-black shape walking away from where he stood. They were far off, so far off Jean wouldn’t see it was him even if he turned around. Marco made to walk towards them, but his leg gave a particularly bad twinge and he almost fell to his knees with the sudden pain of it. He gritted his teeth. Calling out to them was pretty pointless too- he wasn’t a shouter…

Then he had an idea. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled two sharp blasts. It cut rudely across the silence of the green.

The effect on the black shape was immediate. It stopped dead, as though it were listening, and then pivoted round on its hind legs. Marco heard a vague whistle in return. He did it again. This time, the liver chestnut turned around too. And then they were trotting towards him. Marco’s heart somersaulted as he watched the shapes grow bigger, mould into actual horse shapes, and finally Jean melted into sharper view, rising to Sina’s energetic trot and trying his best to hold Titan back from bursting into a gallop. The black horse was tossing his head angrily, eyes rolling as he tried to fight the rope that kept him bound to the younger mare and her rider, and he kept half-cantering in his attempts to break free. Marco could see Jean’s mouth moving as he talked constantly to Titan, controlling him enough that the two horses seemed to match each other stride for stride.

Marco tried to think through what he was going to say. How was he going to construct it? Could he go right out with it? Did he have to wait for Jean to say something first? Suddenly any idea Marco had about human contact and social skills went flying out the window. He didn’t have enough time; in the blink of an eye, Sina was stopping, nostrils quivering pinkly as she stood before him, ears forward and alert. Titan, meanwhile, practically pulled Jean out of his saddle trying to reach Marco, and once he laid his hand on the horse’s nose the retaliation stopped. The tension in the gelding’s muscles seemed to vanish, and he was standing as quiet as a lamb in moments as Marco fussed over him in silence. He kept his eyes on Titan, not sure what to do. Would he even be able to speak if he looked at Jean? He chanced a glance up at him, and gulped.

_And our survey says… not so much._

Jean broke the silence by clearing his throat. “I see what you mean about the whistling being helpful.”

Marco blushed. “Y-yeah…” He looked back to Titan, and let out a sigh. All of his bravado seemed to vanish the second he’d set eye on Jean, and he was currently trying to chase it back. So far, he was failing. They stood there together for what seemed like ages, not moving, not talking… scarcely breathing. Sina shifted beneath Jean, and Titan lowered his head to crop at the grass, bored of the proceedings of the two leggeds surrounding him. And then Jean spoke again.

“Look, Marco… I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” Jean began, “but I need to talk to you about the other day.”

Marco gulped. “I know… I do too…”

“H-have you been avoiding me?” Jean’s voice was breaking a little as he asked the question.

Marco sighed, and nodded. It paid to be honest. “A little. I just… I just panicked.”

Jean drew in a sharp breath, and Marco looked at him again. For a moment, he looked as though he was about to be sick. “Marco, I’m really sorry, but I can’t carry on like before.”

Marco’s stomach dropped. Armin was wrong; Jean hadn’t felt the same way. He was awkward and disgusted by Marco kissing him, and he wanted to leave. He wanted to stay with Marlow, the one who wasn’t terrified of who he was, even if that meant not being treated well. The past few weeks flashed before Marco’s eyes, and he wanted more than anything to go back to them, even if he had been scared of his own shadow back then. Not much had changed. Marco could feel his heart breaking as he lowered his head, nodding as though he understood. “O-okay…”

“Marco…” Jean slipped off of Sina’s back in an instant, taking her reins in the same hand that held Titan’s leadrope. He looked even sicker at ground level. “I can’t… I won’t… ignore what happened.”

Marco bit his lip. “Mmkay.”

“I don’t want to go back to how it was. I mean, if it comes to that I will, I guess, because I don’t want to lose you ‘cus I really like being with you and ugh.” Jean grimaced as he ran his free hand through his hair. He was rambling. “But it’ll be hard. B-because… Marco, when you kissed me I didn’t want to let you go.”

Marco’s eyes flew to him. Jean was blushing deeply, his eyes firmly averted from Marco and onto the blades of grass beside him. He couldn’t look more conflicted if he tried. Marco felt his chest grow lighter than it ever had. He was pretty sure he could float if he jumped high enough. _Jean liked him too. He admitted it there and then, fearless and terrified all at the same time. God, how much of a dork can he be?_ He felt his nerves melt away. “Jean…” he began, a smile spreading onto his face. _He likes me. He likes me. HE LIKES ME._

Jean still hadn’t looked his way. “No, let me finish. I’ll get there, I swear, I just...”

“Jean.”

He held up a shaking hand. “M-Marco, _wait._ I know you wanna grab Titan and make a run for it but I need to tell you this.” Marco bit back his smile as best he could and waited for the inevitable car-crash of words. Jean swallowed painfully, and Marco saw his adam’s apple bob nervously in his throat. “I don’t know why you kissed me, seeing as you looked like you’d murdered someone once we stopped, but it’s all fine. It is. I swear to God. I felt things, Marco, fuckin’… _things. **Things, Marco.**_ I want you to kiss me like that all the time. In fact, I think I _need_ you to kiss me like that all the time. A-and not just as a weird friend favour ‘cus I know you’d probably think of it like that seeing as you’re such a fucking saint-”

“Jean-”

“- and I know that I’m not the best person to be around and I can be a pain in the ass and I could never be half the guy you’re turning out to be but I wanna try. I wanna try so hard b-because you’re worth it, and I know you’re disgusted and freaked out but I’m sorry, I can’t help who I fall in love with-”

“JEAN.” Marco grabbed hold of the other boy’s shoulder and shook him a little, like he was trying to pull him out of a trance. Finally, his eyes met Marco’s. There was blind panic in them, Marco noticed, the sort of panic that he’d felt himself moments before. It startled him; he hadn’t expected Jean to be afraid of something like this. He always seemed so forward and up front about relationships, and here he was fighting to get words out and stumbling over them like a child. Marco’s eyes softened. He really was cute, in the right light. The amber-fire stared right into Marco, burning there, and the surge of warmth that spread through his chest to the tips of his toes was enough to break him into a smile. Jean stared blankly back at him as he lowered the hand on his shoulder, smoothing it down his arm until it reached his free hand. He took it gingerly, and felt it quake with the contact. “C-Can you remember what I said to you after you raced Sina?” Marco asked.

Jean’s face, if it were possible, grew blanker. “You… called me a fucking idiot?” he said.

Marco let his smile grow wider. He even chuckled a little. “Exactly,” he said, summoning the remainder of his courage to lean in and catch Jean’s lips in a clumsy kiss.

He still wasn’t very good at it, he decided, but he was gentler this time; his grip on Jean’s hand tightened as he kept the kiss soft and tender, his lips only lightly playing against Jean’s as he told Jean in his own way that he was more than fine, that fine wasn’t a good enough word to describe it, and that he was embarrassing himself. This time, Jean wasn’t as stunned. He responded almost immediately, dropping Marco’s hand to drape it around his neck and pull him closer, causing a strangled squeak to come from Marco. He could feel Jean’s fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and brought his shoulders up with a small giggle. It tickled.

When they broke the kiss, Jean’s eyes were soft again. “You could’ve told me before I made a twat of myself, you know,” he said, his thumb still running lines down the back of Marco’s neck.

Marco grinned. “Couldn’t help myself. You were too adorable to stop.”

“Bastard,” Jean grumbled, burrowing into Marco’s shirt to hide his blazing cheeks. 

Marco cupped Jean’s face in his hands, pulling him away so he could see the full extent of the blush. And what a blush it was; Jean could have stopped traffic with how red he was. Marco smiled innocently at him. “So, you can’t help who you fall in love with, huh?”

Jean’s nose wrinkled. “Double bastard. I panicked, alright? Ugh, I take it back. I don’t like you. Go away.”

Marco laughed and kissed him again, pulling away before Jean had the chance to deepen it. “I’m sorry.”

Jean made a noncommittal grunting noise and started to tentatively play with Marco’s hair. “You have to admit, you _did_ run for the fucking hills. Can’t blame me for thinking the worst.” He squinted at him. “Were you really that scared?”

“Petrified,” Marco nodded. “And I think I still will be, for a little while. You’ll… have to be patient with me,” he added, leaning his head against Jean’s. “I’ve… never done this before.”

“I can do patient,” Jean replied softly, and Marco felt his heart swell.

“Y-you can?”

“Mmhmm.” Jean pecked him on the lips, and then on the chin, and then the cheeks. It was like now he knew he had permission to kiss him, he was trying to reach every inch in case Marco changed his mind. “I don’t care. I’ll wait as long as you want me to.” He was still shaking, but it was less so now. “God, I’m… I’m just so happy, fuck, I’m sorry.”

Marco couldn’t stop smiling. “There’s no need to say sorry!” he said, letting a small chuckle out, “that’s my job, remember?” He leant into each kiss willingly, his smile only growing brighter, and couldn’t help threading his arms around Jean’s waist, holding him close as he just cherished the moment. His heart was still fluttering, but it was a different sort of flutter, and one he liked the feeling of. And even though he could hear the shuffling of the horses beside him, and the snorts of Titan as he grazed himself stupid, he didn’t think he could imagine a better place to be at that moment.


	14. Keep Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for an update people!   
> I am so swamped by exam prep that I've only looked over this chapter twice (instead of the usual gazillion checks I usually do) so I apologise in advance if it feels a little clumpy. I think it's alright, though.   
> So we have Marco and Jean being adorable dorks, Marco still coming to terms with the fact that he is pretty dang homo and Eleanor just being herself. I dunno. I think this chapter's nice. No need to panic..
> 
> I hope you like it, and please feel free to give feedback as I always want to know if you're liking the way this is heading! :D or you can catch me on my tumblr, seeing as I'm there pretty much 24/7 anyway cus I'm trash.

Marco had thought that only that moment was significant: that he would feel amazing and light for that one instant, that one amazing, beautiful instant, before he would crash back down to earth and lose it all again. That hadn’t been the case at all. In fact, he only seemed to have risen higher. He hadn’t realised just how heavy the burden of his so-called unrequited feelings had been on him, and now they were lifted from his shoulders he felt freer than ever.

He wasn’t as conscious as before. He could touch Jean now without feeling like he was going to be pushed away; he could reach over and give him a small kiss on the cheek when they were studying, or cuddle him when they watched film after awful film (their selection was fast becoming worse). There was no fear of what Jean thought of him and how he had to hide anything from him; it was so much simpler now. Marco still had his ups and downs, sure, but lately his ups lasted far longer than his downs. His shyness still got the better of him and he would blush like a lantern, but it didn’t cause any awkwardness – it just made Jean laugh now. And God, Marco loved the way he laughed. He was pretty sure he’d never heard Jean laugh as much as he did that week.

“Get him into the corners, Marco!”

“I’m trying!”

“Well try _harder_!”

Marco stuck his tongue out at Jean as he trotted past him, the bumpy gait of Jester sweeping him down into the next corner. He pushed him further into the corner and made their curve slightly more angular, Jester tossing his head and laying his ears back in annoyance. Marco chided him with a click of the tongue and a tightening of the rein.

Since good news travelled fast, Marco hadn’t even been the one to tell his mother that he was riding again. That honour fell to Hanji, blabbermouth that she was, but the moment Eleanor found out she had dragged him out of Jean’s room and demanded he get onto Champ and walk around the arena to show her. Marco had a feeling she thought she was hearing things, or Hanji was playing some kind of cruel joke on her, but when he did exactly that she didn’t let him go for half an hour. Marco was crushed to his mother’s short frame as she hopped up and down in delight, crying and cheering and squealing. Marco was pretty sure he’d gone temporarily deaf from her squawking. And when he’d told her Jean was behind it, well…

Eleanor looked like she wanted to kiss him.

And then promptly did.

On the mouth.

Still, Jean had gotten over the traumatic experience quickly enough, and had thrown himself wholeheartedly into giving Marco lessons in order to strengthen up his leg and give him the confidence to ride Titan, when the moment came. The transition onto the faster, more wilful horses had been easy for Marco, although Jester did try his very best to get out of doing anything that required a lot of energy. And that was precisely what he was doing at that moment.

“Better, _sir_?” Marco called out as he attempted to sit to the paint’s jaunty trot. The bumps to his coccyx made him give up.

“Now, I could get used to being called that,” Jean replied with a wry grin, watching Marco as he went deep into the next corner too.

Marco laughed. “In your dreams!”

“You have no idea.”

Marco sniggered and angled Jester towards the very heart of the next corner, his humour vanishing as he concentrated. He stopped rising to the trot a few paces before the corner, which was easier said than done, and then remembered the golden rule.

_Inside leg on the girth, outside leg behind, and…_

“Canter!” he ordered aloud, and as though Jester was waiting to hear it he leapt into a gentle, loping pace, his head lowering and ears flicking slightly back at the idea of hard work. Marco kept his leg on the gelding so that he wouldn’t drop back down to a trot, and gave another click with his tongue to encourage Jester into a slightly more lengthy stride. He grinned when the horse complied, and took him in an entire circuit of the arena, keeping his hands gentle and giving him quiet nudges when he faltered or tried to break stride.

“That’s it! You got it!” he heard Jean call out, and his grin only got bigger.

“You say that like I’ve never cantered before!” he said as he thundered past him.

“Well, you haven’t when I’ve been around, so I’m allowed to be excited!”

Marco chuckled and turned Jester down the centre line of the arena, still cantering him, and turned into a twenty metre circle at the bottom, his attention for the moment on the horse beneath him and the steady rhythm of hoofbeats. Jean had moved to lean against the fence nearest the paddock beyond, and Marco noted the folded arms and broad grin as he swept past him, Jester’s tail flicking out behind him like the crest of a wave. He let the piebald drop back to a trot after another few strides and Jester needed no telling twice; all too soon his bouncy, uncomfortable gait was back, and his neck was stuck out at a strange angle in an attempt to avoid the bit. “Oi, you stop that,” Marco muttered, reining him back and keeping him in the circle, scolding him quietly under his breath. Eventually Jester gave in and lowered his head, snorting in what Marco assumed was distaste.

Once he halted Jester in the middle of the arena, Jean pushed off the fence and wandered towards him. “You did pretty good,” he said, taking hold of Jester’s bridle as Marco dismounted.

“Only ‘pretty good’? You insult me, Jean,” Marco replied, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through his leg on landing. Jean shot towards him, but Marco held a hand up. “It’s o-okay, it just…” he seethed through his teeth and rubbed the offending thigh. “…still hurts.”

Jean frowned. “I guess it’ll take a while.” Marco’s insistence that it was fine didn’t stop him from inching closer and resting his cheek on Marco’s shoulder. “Poor achey baby.”

Marco, as predicted, blushed bright red. “Ugh, don’t call me that,” he whined, turning his head to plant a small kiss on Jean’s temple. “I always thought ‘baby’ was such a weird pet name to give someone.”

“Baby,” Jean repeated stubbornly.

“Je-eeaaan.”

“Baaaabyyy.”

Marco chuckled and shoved him away, running up Jester’s stirrups with the precision of someone who was used to doing it for everyone else for years. “I never realised how much of a dork you were when I met you, you know,” he said, taking Jester’s reins over his head and leading him forwards.

Jean snorted as he followed Marco into the yard, shutting the gate behind them with a ‘click’. “That was totally your fault. I give you complete blame.”

“What, why?” Marco defended.

Jean smirked. “You unleashed the dork within.”

“I did not!”

“You definitely did, _baby_.”

Marco scowled and flicked Jean on the nose as he passed him. “Don’t you have something to do here, like help our stables out?” he taunted, taking the hanging girth and putting it up around the saddle in order to slide the tack off of Jester’s back.

“Probably. But annoying you is far more fun.”

Marco tutted and slung Jester’s saddle over his shoulder, his muscles groaning in protest. “Well you have a lesson to teach in half an hour. You better get the horses ready for that. What are you teaching them today, anyway?”

“Haven’t decided,” Jean replied, running a hand along the curve of Jester’s back. “If I’m in a good mood, trot poles. Bad mood, trot _diagonals._ ”

Trot diagonals, Marco remembered, was without doubt one of the most boring lessons he’d ever had the misfortune of taking part in. “You can’t make them do trot diagonals for an entire lesson, Jean,” he said.

Jean gave him a sly grin. “Wanna make me change my mind?” Before Marco noticed, Jean had taken hold of his open jacket and used it to reel him in closer, cunning dancing in his eyes. Marco’s heart somersaulted as they met each other halfway, Jean tilting his head up inquisitively. His brow was raised, as if to say ‘well, what are you waiting for?’

“W-well, I guess if it’s for the good of the kids…” he muttered, and silenced Jean’s breathy laughter by launching his lips against Jean’s. He had to keep one hand on the saddle in case it fell off his shoulder- they couldn’t risk breaking any tack- but the other just seemed to automatically fit against Jean’s face, the fingers trailing into the dark shadow of his undercut.

He felt more than heard Jean’s happy hum against his lips, and as he broke it he saw that Jean was giving him that gentle smile he rarely saw. He selfishly wondered if he was the only one who had seen that smile. “You’re getting better at that,” Jean murmured against his lips, tilting his head slightly to ensnare them again. “Mmm, yeah, much better.”

Marco chuckled softly, his thumb running alongside the curve of Jean’s cheekbone. “I dunno, I think I need more practice…”

Jean kissed him again. “I swear I never know if you’re serious or not.”

Marco pulled away and stared down at him. He couldn’t help the sudden flash of panic that surged through him. “I-is that a bad thing?” he stammered down at him. He had to admit that he wasn’t sure if he was serious or not either.

Jean just shook his head, grinning. “Damn, you’re so fucking cute,” he replied, giving Marco a gentle kiss on the cheek in response.

One thing Marco had realised within the first few hours of confessing to Jean was that the other boy was definitely a kisser. Jean seemed to crave physical contact, taking every opportunity he could snatch to kiss or hug or hold, and Marco couldn’t help wondering why that was. But then again, he thought as Jean ruffled his hands through his hair, he wasn’t complaining one little bit.

“Jean, where are those brushing boots you borrowed?” came a shout from around the corner that was unmistakeably Hanji.

And just like that, everything shattered.

Marco twitched and backed away, his cheeks still burning. “Um, I should take this to the, er, tack room.”

He didn’t miss the hurt that crossed Jean’s face as he left him, and a sudden weight appeared in his chest again. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what he had with Jean, or that he wished he wasn’t with him, but the very thought of anyone finding out struck him with a chill that was nothing to do with the temperature of the outdoors. He had no reason for it, but it was a feeling he wanted to avoid at all cost. So he was keeping his relationship with Jean secret, at least for a little while. He knew he would need time to figure things out, but he hadn’t realised it would be this odd. He was sure it wasn’t going to last long, though; he’d take the chills and panics any day if it meant that Jean was happy. Marco scolded himself as he slung the saddle into the correct place. He was already sounding like they were announcing their engagement. He needed to stay calm, cool, detached…

That was easier said than done.

Marco was surprised out of his thoughts when his mother popped her head around the tack room door. She was frowning. “Marco! What are you doing, standing there like a guppy? You know what horses need to be tacked up for the lesson!”

Marco felt a lump appear in his throat. He always told her everything that went on in his life. She had been there when he had to vent about bullies, or he was crushing on a girl that was out of his league, or he wasn’t getting the marks he’d expected on an exam. She had been there for him through it all, and yet he felt like the one thing he wanted to tell her remained stuck in his throat. Admitting to his mother that he’d cheated on a maths exam was a lot easier than coming out, he realised. He’d admit to a thousand cheated exams if it meant he didn’t need to. He swallowed painfully. “Er, I’m fine, sorry. Just… just thinking…”

Eleanor’s eyebrow arched. “And you expect me to believe that, do you?”

Marco cringed. She could see right through him. He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible, turning back to the array of saddles. “Pegasus, Magic and Champ, right?” he said, attempting to push some brightness into his tone.

She still wasn’t believing him. “Marco, what’s wrong?” she said softly, and Marco bit his lip. Thankfully, he was facing away from her- otherwise, she would have seen him. “Sweetie? Something’s wrong, I can tell. Don’t you lie to me. You’ve never had to lie to me before.” She paused, waiting for him to fill the silence with an answer. When he didn’t, she asked, “Has something happened between you and Jean?”

Marco nearly dropped the saddle he’d picked up. “Wh-what?!” he bleated.

Eleanor grinned at him, triumphant. Marco’s stomach dropped. “So, something’s happened between you and Jean. Come on, out with it.” She folded her arms, waiting. “Do I have to castrate anyone?”

“N-no! Mum, it’s nothing, honest!” Marco gabbled, hiding his hands underneath the saddle to stop her from seeing how badly they were sweating. “Jean and I are fine, really.” _We’re more than fine, we’re great, we’re so great._ He shook the thoughts away and focused on the saddle leather.

“Has he hurt you, sweetie?” Eleanor asked, reaching up to cup her son’s face. Marco felt himself relax, despite the fact his mind continued to race with manic energy. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

Marco inwardly cringed. Could he? Could he really tell her anything? He didn’t know anything about his mother’s view on homosexuality; she’d frequently told him how she had been brought up in a strict Catholic family, and had been taught by nuns for the better half of six years. However, she had been thrown out of the school after the Mother Superior spotted her handing out cigarettes amongst her friends, so Marco couldn’t really tell. He shook his head. “It’s complicated,” he said finally, summoning up the courage to look her in the eyes. “But I promise he’s not hurt me. Do you really think he’d want to, mum?”

Eleanor chuckled and played with strands of his parting, a tender expression on her face. “No. For starters, he worships you, and secondly he knows that if he so much as pokes you the wrong way I’d be serving him his balls on a platter.”

Marco made a strangled noise as he jerked his head away. “MUM!”

“Well, it’s true!” She chortled. “I’ve seen the fear in his eyes, Marco: you can’t go wrong with someone who respects you enough to fear you.”

“Oh God, oh God, why are you my mum?” Marco groaned as he took Pegasus’s bridle off its hook and walked past her towards the grey’s stall, trying to forget the startling mental image she’d just given him. Eleanor merely cackled in reply.

Relating it back to Jean that evening had made the other boy more afraid than ever. “She said she’d do WHAT?” he yelped. Marco couldn’t help sniggering as Jean snapped his legs together with a snap. “God, your mum’s insane sometimes! You sure she wasn’t part of a gang or something when she was younger?”

Marco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure Jinae has a lot of gangland violence in its history.”

Jean sighed and curled closer into him. They had been watching a film, but it had finished an hour ago and they were too lazy to get up and turn off the repetitive menu music. They were too wrapped up in each other to care. It felt strange to Marco that something that had been so impossible and forbidden to his mind mere days ago was now so natural he wondered how he’d gone without it; Jean’s legs threaded through his were no accident this time, and neither was the way he was breathing softly against Marco’s neck to make him shiver. “Jean…” Marco began, not sure how to word what he was about to ask.

“Mmm?”

“H-how did you come out to your Dad?”

Jean didn’t answer for a while. His shirt had ridden up, and Marco let his thumb stroke a pattern against the skin on show as he waited. He didn’t have to wait as long as he’d thought. “It’s all a blur, really. It happened kinda suddenly,” Jean said. His voice sounded faraway, as though he was chasing the memory down.

“He didn’t… walk in on you or anything, did he?”

“Wha- no, of course he didn’t! I just… realised one day that I had to tell him. I was… God, how old was I?” he paused to think about it. “I was fifteen. I think. I don’t ever think there was some pivotal moment where I decided I liked guys, but I definitely remember realising that I didn’t like girls and panicking because, well… when you’re fifteen, what else is there to like?”

Marco just chose to nod along with him. _Sure, everyone thinks about girls when they’re fifteen… everyone but Marco Bodt, clearly._

“I just sort of asked… _could_ someone like guys if they didn’t like girls. I tried to be clever with it, tried to catch him out. I think I forgot that dear ol’ Daddy’s a lapsed Bible basher, sooo you can imagine how well that went down.” Jean made a face at the memory. “He gave me a proper rinsing out. I had that typical teenage desire to run away from home, but I knew I was just being a drama queen. He thought it was just some phase, that I’d get over it and ‘grow up’. I’m pretty sure he still thinks I’m pretending to like guys for attention. He thinks that’s all being gay is, a phase that some guys stick out for longer than others.”

Marco frowned. “That’s not very supportive of him at all.”

“He’s not going to win Father of the Year any time soon, no.” Jean burrowed in closer to Marco’s chest, and Marco held him there willingly, smoothing his hands up and down his back. “But yeah, I, er… I told him that maybe I liked guys, he flipped out, but he got over it eventually. I think boarding school helped. He didn’t have to face me all the time. Like they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder- or, distance makes the Dad grow less dickish.” Jean wriggled in Marco’s arms to look up at him with a frown. “Why do you ask?”

Marco sighed. “Well… I need to tell my mum _some time._ Once I tell her, I think I’ll get a lot better.”

Jean’s frown increased. “What do you mean, ‘get better’?”

“You know what I mean. I jump like I’ve been shot at if anyone else appears when we’re together, and I hate it.” Marco tried his best to avoid Jean’s incredulous stare as he continued, “I m-mean, I don’t want to hide anything from her. And you… I don’t want you feeling like I don’t care.”

“I don’t fee-”

“Jean, I need to do this,” Marco cut in, finally meeting the other boy’s eyes. “You’re not a guilty little secret, and I’m not going to treat you like that. I can do this for you.”

“You’re going to come out to your mum… for _me_?” Jean looked genuinely confused, and it hurt Marco to think that Jean couldn’t comprehend why he’d do such a thing. It was like he was used to constantly being put after everyone else. “What if she goes mad?”

Marco smiled. “Well, I’ll hold her down while you run away.” Jean didn’t laugh. “Look, I know it might be difficult. I don’t know how she’ll react. But Jean, she likes you. You know she does. I honestly can’t see there being any problem.”

“Yeah, being friends with her son and fucking him is something completely different,” Jean remarked.

Marco blushed. “W-well we haven’t done that yet, so I think we’re safe…” Jean didn’t say anything more, so Marco went to kiss his cheek, missed, and ended up kissing the end of his nose. “Maybe I could tell her on Sunday though, just to be on the safe side.”

Jean went rigid in his arms. He wouldn’t move, not even to return the kiss Marco had given him. He just tensed from head to foot, and his eyes snapped open wide. For a moment, Marco seriously considered the idea that Jean had turned to stone. “Sunday,” Jean said faintly.

“Y-yeah,” Marco said steadily, his brows drawing together. “You are still going back to Trost to train, right?”

“That’s not it.” Jean lowered his head and said in an almost intelligible mutter, “I have to see Marlow.”

It was Marco’s turn to freeze. Even the mention of Marlow’s name made him recoil slightly. “Wh-what?” he said, his grip on Jean tightening ever so slightly. “Why?”

Jean bit his lip. “I h-haven’t… well, I mean, I haven’t…”

Marco let go of him. He sat up. The way Jean was avoiding his gaze was getting him worried, and he immediately realised why. “You haven’t broken up with him yet, have you?” he said, horror flooding through him. Jean’s lack of response was enough of an answer. He suddenly felt very sick. Something began to fester in the pit of his stomach, and the longer the silence continued, the worse it grew. Jean hadn’t told Marlow. He hadn’t broken up with him. Jean was cheating on his boyfriend with Marco, and it was all Marco’s fault. “I don’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head dumbly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jean gulped. “W-well I thought you’d react like this… and… I’d waited long enough. I didn’t want to wait a moment more, Marco. I wanted you. I thought that…”

“You thought? You _thought_?” Marco’s voice was starting to get high in his shock. “You didn’t _think_ , Jean! You didn’t think at all! In fact, I think that’s as thoughtless as you could possibly get!”

Jean huffed and sat up too, folding his arms against his chest. “You don’t understand. How could you? You’ve never done this before.”

“Is that a problem?”

Jean’s folded arms tightened at the tone in Marco’s voice. “N-no… just… Marco, it’s just hard.”

Marco frowned. He wondered what was so complicated about it. Maybe he was talking out of ignorance, but if someone didn’t love who they were with anymore, that should have been enough grounding to get them to break it off. So why was Jean looking so torn, so worried, so _scared_? Marlow didn’t seem like a very nice guy, true, but that was all the more reason to get out while he could. He reached out and stroked Jean’s tense arm. “Hey, come on,” he soothed. “You… do want to be with me, right? It’s not that you… you’re just humouring me or something?”

“No!” Jean’s sudden snap surprised both of them. He hung his head. “I’m not humouring you. I couldn’t ever joke about something like this. I just… I just felt so great these past few days, I didn’t want to meet up with Marlow and spoil it.”

Marco’s frown increased. “How would that spoil it?”

Jean gave him a small, strange smile. “Marlow has this ability to make you feel like shit when he’s in a _good_ mood. And I’m pretty sure he won’t be happy.”

Marco sighed. That didn’t surprise him. Marlow seemed the manipulative type, even if his approach was a little crass. He found himself thinking back to the night of the race, the night when Marlow had leant in close to him and warned him in no uncertain terms to ‘keep off the grass’. Jean didn’t need him, but Marlow had some sort of power over him, and it sickened Marco. The very thought of him trying to manipulate Jean made him pull the other boy closer to hug him, his head resting on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured.

“Easy for you to say,” Jean mumbled. “You’re not the one who has to deal with him.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Marco asked. He wasn’t sure why he suggested it; he wouldn’t exactly stand a chance against Marlow, but he was sure he could have a pretty good try. If he was angry enough, he was sure he could kick the living daylights out of him if the mood took him.

“N-no… it’d be better if I went on my own. I can go after training. I just… ugh, this Sunday’s gonna suck.” He buried deeper into Marco’s hug, letting a heavy sigh rip through him, and as Marco continued to smooth his hands up and down his back, he was inclined to agree with him.

* * *

 

Marco hoped that the weekend wouldn’t come too fast, but it ended up sneaking up on them quicker than he’d expected. He’d not exactly avoided Jean since he’d admitted he was still _technically_ with Marlow, but he had held off from holding him too close, or kissing him. Having to deprive himself of something he’d wanted for so long was more torture than he could bear, but there was a small part inside of him that kept him strong. Marco might not have been Marlow’s biggest fan, but no one deserved being cheated on. He didn’t want Jean to be labelled as a cheater, and he definitely didn’t want to be the one stuck in the middle.

Still, Eleanor was running them so ragged Marco barely had time to dwell on it; the season was in full swing, and they were getting the more fairweather riders back for the summer. Walk outs and hacks increased in number, and now Marco could ride Eleanor was using it to her advantage. He was now taking out novice riders for gentle rides along the moor above them, and even though he pretended it was a big chore, he secretly enjoyed doing it. Jean, meanwhile, was stuck in the ménage teaching with Hanji, and had been getting a great deal of compliments from parents and riders alike. Jean would wave off their praise with modest scoffing, but Marco could tell that his self-esteem was certainly on the rise. He would always catch Marco’s eyes and smile so brightly Marco would feel something twinge painfully in his chest.

Saturday evening had come around far too quickly, and before Jean got into his car that evening he’d practically thrown Marco against the side of the silver paintwork, planting a fevered kiss on his lips. Marco didn’t fight it. He knew Jean needed it; it gave him courage in some way, and he wanted to help in any way he could. When they pulled apart all Marco could say was a soft, “Text me when you get there, alright?” and got a curt nod in response. Jean was tensing up again, throwing up barriers as he stepped into the car and shut the door behind him. He didn’t return Marco’s wave as he drove out of the stable yard, his eyes focused on the road ahead and what was awaiting him. Marco sighed, his chest suddenly feeling very heavy. He hoped Jean would be okay. It was only a day, though- nothing could go wrong in a day, right?

Marco was texting him through the majority of the night. He didn’t normally, only a few texts here and there when he heard something he thought Jean would appreciate, but that evening he felt like Jean needed it. He needed to feel that Marco was thinking about him. He sent him silly texts, pointless texts, texts that intentionally wound Jean up and got them into a text rant. Marco was sure he was going to run out of credit if he wasn’t too careful, but it would be worth it so long as Jean was comfortable. As he thought about it, a tired vibration from his phone informed him that Jean had replied.

Jean [01:57]: _You gotta be sick of talkin to me by now_

Marco[01:58]: _Nope I’m good : ) We’d be falling asleep on the sofa right about now if you were here…_

Jean [01:58]: _Ugh don’t remind me I wanna watch some shitty film right now_

Marco [02:10]: _My films aren’t that bad! Dork, everything will be fine :D_

Jean [02:11]: _Yeeeah you keep tellin yourself that Freckles. Spoken to your mum yet?_

Jean [02:30]: … _Marco?_

Marco [02:35]: _it’s not Sunday yet_

Jean [02:37]: _It’s been Sunday for two hours_

Jean [02:41]: _You’re panicking aren’t you?_

Marco [02:43]: _No I’m not!_

Jean [02:46]: _You so are. Almost 3 hours now, nerd._

Marco groaned and threw his phone onto his bed.

He kept his phone on him the next day, just in case Jean had a spare minute to text him and update what was going on. He’d decided to talk to his mother after the lessons were finished, and until then he was stuck grooming the horses and trying to stop his head from exploding from overthinking things. What would she say? What would she do? He thought back to Jean and his father, and suppressed a shudder. He was pretty sure his mother wouldn’t be the same as Jacques Kirschtein. She wouldn’t shout the odds at him, even if she didn’t agree with him. Shouting wasn’t what his mother did; she did disappointed silence, and that was sometimes twice as bad. No, she wouldn’t be the same as Jean’s father, even if it was just to compete against him. “ _I accepted my son’s homosexuality far better than YOU accepted YOUR son’s homosexuality. Now who’s better?”_ Marco had to bite back a laugh at the thought. That sounded more like his mother.

“You alright, Marco?”

Marco nearly dropped his pitchfork. Mikasa was stood in the doorway of the stable he was clearing out. Despite the heat, she still had the red scarf tucked into her crisp polo shirt. She’d had her hair cut a little shorter, he noticed. “Oh, M-Mikasa! Hey.” He smiled shyly and turned back to his work. “I’m okay, I just have my head in the clouds today.” He cricked his back with the strange angle he twisted at to heave the straw into the waiting barrow, and hissed as the bones popped unpleasantly.

Mikasa took a step forward. “Let me help.”

“Oh, it’s alright, I don’t need-!”

Marco’s protests died in the air as she waved away his protests. She helped herself to a shovel and got to work without another word. It was impossible to argue with her; Eren’s personality tended to rub off on everyone he surrounded himself with, and Mikasa got the full blast of it. She could be stubborn, even when she was helping someone selflessly. Her upper body strength was incredible, Marco noted as she threw a giant chunk of straw over her head in a clean arc, the chunk landing in the barrow perfectly. “How’s Jean?” she asked after a few minutes of silence. “He’s back home today, isn’t he?”

Marco twitched at his mention. “Oh, w-well he seemed fine last night.”

“Figures. If I had someone like you looking out for me I’d be happy too.” Marco choked on air. He glanced at the dark-haired girl with a mixture of surprise and horror. Mikasa continued to heap straw into the barrow, unconcerned save for a slightly smug expression on her face. “Thought so. So, is Jean a good kisser?”

“Mikasa, SHUSH!” Marco looked around wildly. “Someone might hear you!”

Mikasa’s eyes widened a fraction, and then a small smile appeared on her face. “Do you really think people are going to turn against you because you’re going out with a guy? You have less confidence than I thought.”

Marco snorted. “Thanks, that _really_ helps.”

Mikasa gave him a wry look. “You know what I mean. I just thought you were quiet for a while, I never would’ve realised you were so…” Marco’s deadpan expression stunted her sentence. “Nevermind. Have you not told your mum yet? About you and Jean?”

Marco shook his head. “Telling her tonight. I dunno how she’ll take it.”

Mikasa shrugged, her neutral expression back as she scraped the remnants of bedding into a single corner. “Well, I guess you have a reason to worry. Your mum single-handedly brought Eren and Jean to their knees- that’s quite the achievement.”

“You didn’t see what she did to Marlow,” Marco muttered.

“She did something to Marlow?” Something in Mikasa’s eyes flashed. “I hope she gave him a kick in the nuts. He’d certainly have deserved it. What a no-good rotten bastard he turned out to be.” She propped her hands on her shovel and eyed the empty stall approvingly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a more unpleasant person.”

“Well that unpleasant person was Jean’s boyfriend.” Marco frowned. _Was. Is. Was? What was he? Had Jean spoken to him yet?_

“Everyone makes mistakes. I’m glad Jean’s taste has got better.” Mikasa gave Marco another small smile, and shouldered her shovel. “You’re good for each other, Marco. He brings you out of your shell. You’ll need to look after him though- I think he only plays at being the tough guy.”

He chuckled. It was funny just how close Mikasa was to the mark. She really was an observant person. “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh and, er, Mikasa?” She turned on her way out of the stall. “C-can you keep it quiet for a little while? Don’t tell Eren, or anyone. Just for a little while longer.”

She nodded sincerely. “Mum’s the word.”

Marco didn’t realise the pun in her words until she was outside. He slumped against the side of the stall and sighed heavily. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Marco really didn’t want to do it. He really didn’t. Everything in his system was screaming at him to get out of the situation he’d landed himself in, to go back to how things were and be comfortable in his shell. And all because he’d knocked over the salt at the dinner table.

And the pepper.

And part of the gravy jug.

“For goodness sake, Marco! What is wrong with you today?” Eleanor sighed, wiping up the spilt gravy with a wet cloth. “You only get really clumsy if something’s bothering you.” She was looking a little hassled today; the workload had gone up, it was true, but she’d told Marco she’d visited Erwin at his home. He couldn’t walk without the help of a crutch, but he was recovering well. The minute she could, Eleanor had shut the world out and changed out of her work clothes. As she stared Marco down from her side of the table, a strand of her fringe fell from the ponytail she’d scraped it into and sat between her eyes like a forelock. Her eyes glinted. “Marco, you have to tell me. Right now. Otherwise I’m going to get more worried than I am already, and trust me that’s hard.”

Marco’s pulse was roaring in his ears. His hands were clammy and shaky. His chest hurt. They were all the symptoms of a panic, but he couldn’t let it control him now, not when he had to say something so important. _Think of Jean_. _He needs you to be strong. Be a man._ “O-okay, so there is something I need to tell you…” he began.

Eleanor smiled. “That was easy. I thought I’d have to go through the whole ‘mum’s here for you no matter what’ talk again. I think you have that memorised by now.”

Marco blushed and ducked his head against his chest. “Um… it’s kind of… personal…”

“So it’s about Jean, am I right?”

“Huh?” Marco’s eyes snapped up. “Why did you think-?”

“I’m your mother, Marco, I’m not an idiot.” Her elbows appeared on the table as she cupped her face in her hands and stared at him, a smile still on her face. “You and Jean are thick as thieves. I’m glad I took him on; he’s been good for you.” She tilted her head. “So, what about him? I know you said he’s not hurt you, but still… has he?”

“No, mum!” Marco ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, trying to think of how to word it. “It’s difficult…”

“Is he blackmailing you?” Her brow rose.

“No!”

“Threatening you?” The brow rose higher.

“No!”

“Do you not like him around the stables anymore?” The brow disappeared into her hairline.

“No, mum, I love him!” Marco blurted out. He squeaked with horror and clapped a hand to his mouth. That hadn’t been how he’d wanted it to come out at all. He thought he would have been a little more eloquent about it, but panic was panic, and he couldn’t stop it. _Word vomit_ , Armin called it.

He saw his mother’s eyes widen a fraction, and felt everything inside of him shrivel. This was it. He was done for. Jean was done for. He was vaguely debating on becoming a hermit when he noticed something else. His mother, Eleanor Bodt, was smiling. Then she was grinning. Then she was… _laughing?_

“M-mum?” he asked as she covered her mouth to stop the giggles spilling out. He gawped at her as she tried to stifle her laughter and failed miserably.

His first reaction was _Oh shit I’ve broken my mother_ but before he could say anything else she removed her hand from her mouth. “Marco, is this what you were worried about telling me?” she said.

“W-well yeah, I didn’t know how you felt about… You know. That.” Marco gulped. “A-and I mean I don’t know how it’s going to work but I know I really care about him and- MUM, STOP LAUGHING.”

“I can’t! I can’t believe… you looked like I was going to murder you… oh bless you, Marco, you’re so sweet…”

“Yeah, I’m bloody adorable, can you stop?” Marco blushed. He found himself smiling though, and all his organs seemed to grow back to their rightful size as relief set in. She was okay with it. She was laughing at how worried he’d been, but she was okay with it. Marco smiled so widely his cheeks ached. “So, you honestly don’t mind?” he asked. He had to make sure.

Eleanor waved a hand dismissively. “Psh, no. Honestly, Marco, have I ever given across the impression that I would care? Jean’s a nice boy, a damn sight better than his father, and I think you’re good for one another. He needs you as much as you need him. Not to mention he’s cute beyond belief, well done on that! You get that from my side of the family,” she winked.

Marco sunk into his seat, relief momentarily replaced by embarrassment. “Mum, stop it! You can’t call him cute, you’re my **_mum_** ,” he complained.

“I call them as I see them, sweetie, and Jean is cute. No denying that.” Her grin softened. “Besides, I saw the way you look at each other sometimes. I could tell you were smitten for each other since last week.”  Marco felt his cheeks burn even hotter at that. That had been when they were getting ready to meet everyone at the pub. He had to admit, he had let his guard down a little. He twitched when his mother laid a soft hand on his own, and squeezed it gently. He looked up to see her smiling at him, acceptance written all over her face, and he felt his heart inflate two sizes. “Sweetie, you have to understand, I don’t care who you’re with, so long as you’re both happy and safe. Which reminds me,” she added, her smile becoming a little more teasing now, “you _do_ know you still need to use protection, right?”

Back to the blushing. “MUM, SHUT UP!” Marco shouted, hiding his face in his hands.

“I’m just saying! We never really had that talk with you, Marco- it was meant to be your dad’s job but that never happened so…” Eleanor shrugged. “I know that two men can’t make a baby…”

“Oh no…” Marco groaned behind his hands.

“…but they still need to take precautions because they don’t want to get ill…”

“Mum, please stop. This is embarrassing for both of us.”

“Hey, who’s had sex and who hasn’t?”

“Oh God, shut up!” he cringed, sinking down lower in his seat.

“I’m just saying Marco, condoms are always good to go, and if you ever need me to get some for you…”

“I’m not listening, la la la la la!” Marco clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes.

He was sure his mother was getting some sort of sick pleasure out of seeing him so embarrassed. She, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself. When she tapped him to get him to open his eyes, she shoved a suspicious looking wrapper in his face. “What is it?” she demanded.

Marco paled. “Oh, oh God, mum, no…” he groaned, looking away from her.

“I said what is it?” she trilled in a sing song voice, waving it in front of his grief-stricken nose.

“It’s a condom, okay? Oh my God, I am never telling you anything ever again,” he whined. “Why do you even have one of those lying around?!”

“Never you mind. And now you take this…” she grabbed a small rolling pin from the nearest drawer, “and put it on that so I know you’re doing it right!”

“ ** _OH MY GOD YOU ARE THE WORST MOTHER EVER._** ”

Marco was beginning to believe that he was going to become the first person to officially die of embarrassment, until the knock on the door saved the day. “I’ll get it!” he cried shrilly, bolting from his seat and sprinting for the hallway.

“Marco, you’ll have to have the talk sooner or later! I want you boys to be safe!” Eleanor called after him. Marco flushed even deeper. He wasn’t sure if he was happy with how accepting his mother was anymore.

He already knew who it would be at the door. He planned to haul Jean up to his room and avoid his mother at all cost. He wanted to tell him that even though she was being beyond weird about it all, one thing she wasn’t was angry or unhappy. He wanted to let him know that everything was okay. He opened the door with a beaming smile. It dropped when his eyes adjusted.

Jean was stood on the doorstep, true enough, but it wasn’t the Jean Marco had been waiting for. This Jean was leant against the doorframe, hair askew and jaw strangely swelled, and when his eyes flashed up to meet Marco’s they looked more like the eyes of a cornered wild animal. They were glazed with something that filled Marco with ice. Jean didn’t even try to pretend this time; he pushed himself off the doorframe, swayed badly, and fell forwards.

“Woah, hey, easy!” Marco cried, leaping to catch him. “Take it easy and calm down. What’s happened?” He tightened his grip on Jean’s waist, and the yelp Jean made in return almost made Marco drop him. “O-okay, you’re alright,” he said, his stomach convulsing with worry. “Don’t try to move too fast…”

“Marco, is that Jean?” he heard his mother call from the kitchen. Her happiness felt horribly out of place now. Marco looked down at Jean, silently asking what he wanted to do. Jean’s eyes met his, and for a second they just looked at each other. Jean looked scared, and Marco had never seen him like it before. “Jean…” he began.

The boy shook his head adamantly, burrowing himself into Marco’s shirt. “Please, can w-we just… just go upstairs?” he mumbled.

Marco nodded, releasing him only to nudge him towards the stairs. Marco hadn’t ever realised how quickly moods could change, but like a drop in the ocean his calm was broken up into ripples of discomfort.

“Sweetie, who is it?” Eleanor called again, and Marco paused halfway up the stairs. Jean stopped too, holding the banister for support. The alarm on his face and silent pleading was enough.

Marco swallowed painfully. “It’s no one. D-don’t worry, I was hearing things.”

And with that, he carried on up the stairs, feeling the ripples reach his very edges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S ANOTHER SORT OF CLIFFHANGER. Next week you're in for a world of feels, beliiiiieeeeeve me.


	15. You Might Bend ‘Til You Break…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand chapter fifteen is here! Whew, this one's a bit of a rollercoaster, has to be said. We find out what's wrong with Jean, Marco meets a friendly face with news that is going to rock his world to the limit, and more horsey Titan shenanigans. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and as usual feedback is always appreciated, I love hearing what you think :) 
> 
> My tumblr is also open for asks: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/
> 
> But yes, enjoy thisss!

Jean wasn’t talking.

They were sat on Marco’s bed, their legs brushing one another’s, and Marco’s arm was around Jean’s shoulders to pull him in close. But still, Jean was silent. He stared blankly at Marco’s floor, not moving, and Marco began to think of something to say. He clutched for anything, anything at all that didn’t sound too demanding or pathetic or plain _wrong_ for the situation, but it was like trying to catch smoke. When nothing sprang to mind after a few minutes of tense silence, he settled for a soft, “Jean…”

“I fell off my horse.”

The voice was dead. Blank. It hurt Marco to hear it. Armin’s voice appeared in his head: _“When Jean lies, it’s usually for a good reason…”_

He sighed. “I know that’s not tr-”

“I fell. Off. My horse. End of story.”

“Please tell me the truth, Jean,” Marco said. He was pretty sure he knew what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to even think about it. He wanted nothing more than to be proved wrong. He was wrong a lot of the time. _Let it be one of those times_ , he found himself praying. _Please let me be wrong, let me be overthinking things._ But Jean’s refusal to talk about it was twisting his gut into all sorts of wrong shapes, and was suggesting that on this occasion, he was all too right.

“I told you, I fell off my horse.” Jean’s voice was the same. Curt, emotionless, monotonous. Marco was suddenly seized with inexplicable anger. Jean was constantly telling everyone else how they didn’t understand, or didn’t get it, but Jean was just as bad. Marco didn’t like being shut out, and every dead response was like something twisting a knife in his insides that little bit sharper. It _hurt_. Couldn’t Jean see that?

“Shut up!” he snapped, drawing his arm away and glaring at Jean. “Just shut up! If you’re just going to repeat the same old lie like an old record, how do you expect anyone to help you?” Jean looked stunned. Not scared, Marco was thankful to note, but it had got the other boy’s attention. Marco had never shouted at him before, and Marco felt wretched for it. But he kept the glare, the clenched fists, the snarl in his voice, because Jean needed to know. He had to understand that he couldn’t lie to him, not anymore. That wasn’t what being together was about. But then Jean looked away and gave such a broken sigh that all of Marco’s anger fell away. “Look,” he said, trying to soften his voice, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I just… I’m just worried. I want you to know that it’s okay. You can tell me. I just want to help you. You know how much I care about you. Just trust me, okay? C-can you do that?”

Jean straightened up, looked him in the eye, sighed. Then he reached out a hand, touching the side of Marco’s face so tentatively Marco thought he was too afraid to get close. Jean tried to smile but failed. “I’m sorry too. C-can you just… c-come here,” he said, and leaned into Marco’s body like he was trying to find something there. His arms went around Marco’s neck as Marco’s wrapped around Jean’s narrow waist, and that was how they stayed, clutching each other like they would drift apart if they let go.

Jean’s ragged breathing against his ear made Marco press his lips to the other boy’s cheek, first one and then the other. His chest clenched when he tasted the salt of tears on both. “Hey, ssh, it’s alright, I’m here,” he whispered.

Jean hiccoughed. “I’m a d-dick,” he whimpered. “And p-pathetic.”

“No, you’re not.” Marco smoothed his hands up and down Jean’s back. Jean never got like this, and it was scaring him. “Please, Jean… what happened to you?” Marco murmured, kissing his cheek again. Jean liked kissing. He needed proximity. So that’s what Marco gave him. He nuzzled against him, closing his eyes as the scent of Jean overwhelmed him for a moment, and felt Jean relax in his arms. “C’mon, tell me,” he pressed.

Jean pressed himself closer, as if he wanted to sink into him. “Well, good news is I talked to Marlow,” he said. He tried to sound joking, but Marco could tell that it was forced.

His grip on him tightened. _God, he hated being right_. “What did he do to you?” he asked. He blinked at how steady his voice was.

Jean hid his face. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled into Marco’s hair. Marco opened his mouth to protest, but Jean moved back to gaze at Marco properly. He looked like a ghost, and Marco noticed the vicious bruise on his lip standing starkly against the tender skin. And Marlow was the reason. He was why Jean looked so small and so un-Jeanlike, why he was struggling to get his sentences out, why he looked as though he might break if Marco said the wrong thing. Marco tried to stop himself from storming out and hunting Marlow down, however stupid that sounded. He tried to keep tears at bay, and looked away. The way Jean could be reduced to something so scared and flinching by one person just seemed to drive the point home further for him. The influence Marlow had over Jean was gigantic. “C-can I just show you?” Jean suddenly asked, his voice lower than a whisper.

Marco stared at him. He didn’t want to see, and yet he did. He wanted to know, but he also wanted to remain ignorant. Jean looked as though the question had been a tough one to get out, if his shakes were anything to go by. Marco gulped. He had to be strong. He had to know. He bit his lip and nodded, letting Jean slide out of his arms. The gap between them felt like a chasm.

Jean shakily sat up, rocking back on his heels and waiting a moment to compose himself. He let out a haggard sigh, and seemed to wince at the effort. “Please don’t… don’t get angry. I’ve had enough of angry bastards today.”

Marco nodded stiffly. “I promise.” He didn’t want to promise. He knew he was going to be angry, but not at Jean. Why would he be angry with Jean? The way he was being looked at made it clear that Jean thought there was some sort of reason why he would be. He wet his lips, trying to control his already feverish pulse. He was calm. He was in control. He had to keep calm, for Jean’s sake.

Jean exhaled slowly, hands going to the hem of his Trost Riding Academy polo shirt, and let his eyes flicker up to Marco’s again. His fingers were quivering. The fire in the amber returned, if only for a moment, and Marco smiled gently, encouragingly. Jean let out another sharp exhalation of breath, and lifted the fabric up and over his head. The shirt landed noiselessly behind him.

Marco clapped a hand to his mouth.

He had to.

Jean’s torso, the body that had been pale and unblemished the last time he’d seen it, was now purpled with bruises. Marco let his eyes rove everywhere, taking in every last welt and mark, and his eyes just got wider. It looked as though Jean had been kicked around like a football. The worst was a particularly sickly green bruise just under his navel that turned darker and more purple as it reached its centre. To do it, Marlow had to have stamped down hard. Marco shook his head, hand still on his mouth. “Oh my g-god,” he choked out. Jean’s eyes flew to him, and he lowered his head, brushing a hand over the bruise under his navel, hugging his own body. He looked ashamed. Marco didn’t know what to do. He sat staring at him, drinking everything in and imagining Jean being punched, kicked, over and over without stopping, and he drew in such a sharp breath he didn’t realise it was a sob. “J-Jean, did he-?” he managed to ask.

Jean nodded slowly. “He… he wasn’t happy…”

Marco released his breath in a rush. “O-oh my god,” he said again. He batted away his tears as best he could. He didn’t deserve to cry for him. He didn’t. “H-he didn’t… Jean, tell me he didn’t-?”

The question hung in the air for a while, but Marco’s chest loosened a little when Jean shook his head.

“H-has he done this before?” He didn’t know why he had to ask.

Jean hesitated. “N-never as bad as this.” He glanced at Marco again, before looking back to the floor. Marco realised, with a pang, that Jean had expected him to be disgusted or repulsed. “Think it was his idea of a parting gift.”

Marco let out a shuddering breath. “B-bastard…bastard…” he said, “F-fucking… _bastard_ … Jean, I… I am so sorry.”

Jean shrugged. “It’s not your fault… you didn’t know…”

“Look at me,” Marco said softly. When Jean didn’t, he shifted closer, cupping his hand to the side of Jean’s face that looked less swollen. “Baby, look at me.” Jean reluctantly slid his eyes to Marco’s, and kept them there, though the gaze did waver from time to time. Marco gulped. “I’m so sorry that he did this to you. I am so, so sorry. He is a bastard, Jean, and you’re worth so, _so_ much more. You won’t get hurt like this again, b-because I won’t let it happen. I won’t let that bastard hurt you again, o-okay? I promise.” He let out a small, shaky sigh. “A-and I know that’s rich coming from someone like me, but I swear I’d beat Marlow to a pulp if I thought it’d help. Or at least, I’d try…” He let his voice tail off. He didn’t need to talk, he realised. Not right now. Jean didn’t need talking. Instead, he leaned in close and planted a small kiss on Jean’s lips.

It was barely a kiss at all; he was so scared that it would hurt Jean in some way that he barely touched him. But the moment he pulled away, Jean launched himself forwards and latched onto the lips that had just deserted him. Marco was surprised by the sudden ferocity of it, and flung an arm out to steady himself with a muffled noise of surprise. That got a weak chuckle out of Jean, and he continued to move his lips against Marco’s feverishly, letting broken breaths escape him every now and again as he refused to break the connection. It was like he thought Marco was going to disappear, vanish into thin air and leave him on his own, and he needed to make sure that it didn’t happen. It was a needy, violent kiss, and it made Marco’s heart flutter. _I’m here_ , he tried to say through his kisses. _I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere._

When Marco pulled away he was gasping like he had just run a marathon, and was shaking just about as much. Jean was smiling. It was a small, broken little smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Marco kissed the corners of his mouth gently, savouring the way Jean sighed against his lips, and hesitated before planting a small kiss against the broken skin of his lip from where Marlow had bitten him. Jean’s lip curled in a grimace, but he returned the kiss on Marco’s cheek. Marco then moved on, kissing Jean’s jawline, his neck, his collarbone, his chest… he peppered kisses everywhere. Jean deserved to be kissed everywhere. He brushed his lips against some of the bruises he found as gently as he could, and heard little more than a short intake of breath from Jean. He could feel Jean’s hands curling in his hair, toying with strands and massaging his scalp. He looked up. The ghostly look had faded a little, and in its place was the soft expression Marco had seen before. He felt something in him uncoil. He began to believe what he had been telling Jean all along: everything was going to be fine. He smiled too, and rose to his usual height to nuzzle his forehead against Jean’s. “My poor achey baby,” he said, echoing the words Jean had used after his turn with Jester in the ménage.

“You’re calling me baby,” Jean murmured with a lazy smile, butting him gently. “Thought you didn’t do pet names.”

Marco pecked him on the lips and engulfed him in as gentle a hug as he could muster, feeling the tickle of Jean’s hair on his nose. “I changed my mind,” he replied in Jean’s ear. “You’re my baby.”

“Not if you’re my baby first,” Jean said, muffled by the fabric of Marco’s hoodie, and the hug tightened amid Jean’s protests.

Marco hadn’t ever realised how broken Jean really was. He always thought he was the broken one, the one who thought himself a lost cause and beyond the point of fixing. Now he knew that Jean felt it too, and they were just two broken people thrust together in the hopes that they could sort each other out. Marco wasn’t sure how well that idea would play out.

But for that moment, as they held each other and called one another baby like they were in a stupid cliché romance film, Marco began to feel that Jean was being fixed- and this time, he had the right to be the one doing the fixing.

* * *

 

Jean stayed in his room that night. This time, though, Marco had the chance to pull the covers over both of them, and they fell asleep holding onto one another, Jean’s grip so tight it was as though he was worried Marco would slip through his fingers. The next morning Marco woke up with a grumble and a groan, but Jean’s playful batting made it impossible for him to go back to bed. “Come on lazy, up and at ‘em,” Jean said, pressing his freezing cold feet to Marco’s legs and making him yelp.

“J-Jean, you’re like ice!” Marco cried, wriggling away from his tormentor. “Get out of my room, abominable snowman!”

“Aww, someone really is in a grump this morning.”

Marco grumbled something incoherently and turned over. At least Jean seemed to have cheered up, even if it was a godforsaken hour of the morning. The way he managed to spring back from whatever hardship he suffered was kind of admirable, but Marco was far too sleepy to care at that moment in time. “Go get breakfast or somethin’, lemme sleep.”

“Oh no you don’t, you’re getting up too.” And then Marco felt the warmth of Jean’s lips against the crook of his neck. His shoulder twitched, but he didn’t try to move away. He relished the feeling, just for that moment, and fully embraced the shiver that ran along his skin. He even smiled- a little. He turned over and fixed Jean with a pout, but it didn’t last long. A normal Jean was kiss-worthy most of the time; a Jean with tousled hair and a sleepy smile on his face was the most adorable thing Marco had ever seen. He couldn’t stay grouchy and half-asleep with that kind of Jean in his bed. So he pounced.

“Ah, Marco!” Jean complained as he was accosted with kisses, and the pain in his voice made Marco jerk away from him in an instant.

“Oops, sorry,” he said, hiding his face against Jean’s to conceal the blush that sprang to the surface. “I forgot.”

“At least someone can, Jesus Christ this hurts,” Jean winced, turning onto his side to look down at himself. He hadn’t bothered trying to pull the shirt back on the night before, and Marco stared down at the bruises with a grimace. They had gotten darker in the night, the extra hours bringing out their sickly greeny yellow hues. He was reminded of Marlow, and it filled him with anger.

“Jean, you can’t work today. I’ll tell mum you’re sick.”

“No!” Jean said, a little too quickly. “N-no, it’s fine, I’ll manage…”

“Jean, you’re in agony, admit it.”

“I am _fine,_ Marco. Don’t make me sit around all day feeling sorry for myself.” Jean’s brows drew together as he frowned. “Please,” he added.

Marco sighed. There wouldn’t be any arguing with him. Jean’s frown was soft, but stubborn. He did relent to Marco getting some ointment of sorts for him in the village, which Marco promised to do after he’d finished his chores. Jean asked him not to tell his mother about the bruises, muttering something about not wanting to make a scene and getting her worried. Marco was more worried about his mother going off on a Marlow-induced rampage, and figured that that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. But he kept his mouth shut, as ordered, and only had to sit through the entirety of breakfast with Eleanor beaming at them like Marco had told her he’d discovered gold. She didn’t delay in saying how adorable they were and how Jean had better treat him right or _else_. Marco didn’t want to know what else- his mother was usually pretty explicit.

At least he didn’t have her watchful eye on him as he worked about the stables, sweeping the courtyard and picking out the hooves of an extremely grumpy Magic. Marco was forced to duck to avoid the gelding’s gnashing teeth, and tapped him on the muzzle with a glower. “Behave yourself,” he ordered. Magic blew out through his nose and stood still, though his ears remained back. He let his eyes trail over to the ménage, and watched Jean take his lesson. He was standing stiffly, one hand on his hip to keep himself from moving too much, and Marco could see the way his jaw was clenched against the pain as he turned to watch his group trot around the ménage. He frowned. Jean was clearly hurting a lot more than he was letting on, and his chores were pretty much finished…

He sighed. _Oh well. What mum doesn’t know won’t hurt her._ He got Magic’s saddle and bridle from the tack room and set about putting it on the gelding, dodging out the way when he tightened the girth and the snapping teeth came back. “Cut it out!” he hissed, and the bay horse jerked his head up with an indignant snort. “You’ve been spending too much time with Eren, now come on.” He saw Jean glance at him as he stuck a hat on his head and swung onto Magic’s back, wincing a little at how barrel-bellied the cob was, but once he gathered up his reins and gave him a nudge with his heels Magic started forward, the picture of good behaviour. “I’ll be back later!” he called out to him amid the deafening clops of Magic’s drum-like hooves. Jean nodded, a smile curling at the end of his lips, and Marco set off out of the stables at a steady trot.

Magic wasn’t as bomb-proof as Champ was; Marco found that he had to be on the lookout for plastic bags, birds startling in the trees overhead or the honk of cars trying to get past. Magic was surprisingly forward going for such a big animal, and though he tossed his head and complained constantly as they made their way into the village, Marco could relax. Thankfully it wasn’t a market day, and so the heart of the village looked as quiet as it usually did. Marco slowed Magic to a jaunty walk as he searched for the green cross that signified a pharmacy, and wasn’t looking where he was going.

“Woah, easy!”

Marco’s eyes snapped back to attention in time to see a giant bay cart horse being pulled back from its thundering pace, a surprised neigh coming from its throat as it spotted Magic in time. It really was a giant; it was about the same height as Titan, if not taller, and with strong limbs heaped with muscle that devolved slowly into great white feather, so much so that its hooves couldn’t even be seen underneath them. The great Roman head looked down at Marco with a gently bemused expression, and Marco couldn’t help smiling. “Heya Garrison,” he said, nudging Magic a little closer. “How are you doing, big guy?” Garrison whickered in such a low pitch the ground almost rumbled, and lowered his head to allow Marco to stroke the thick white blaze down his face. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Marco murmured, smiling as the horse nipped at the brim of his hat playfully.

“Garrison ye bloody idiot,” came a voice from the cart the horse was pulling. “Get moving, come on, get!”

Marco peered around Garrison’s bulk to the driver and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Hannes. My fault.”

The driver jumped down from the cart with wide eyes, looking older than ever as he replied, “Marco? Bloody hell, you’re riding again? When did that happen?”

Marco grinned. Hannes had been a friend of the family for quite some time. He was a skilled farrier, though he didn’t get as much business as he used to, but he also harvested the hay for the winter feeds and sold his orchard apples to the cider presses. He was known as an odd job man around Jinae, and always tried to help out the families that struggled. He’d helped Marco and his mother through some tough times after Marco’s father left, and they were forever in his debt. “It’s a long story,” Marco admitted, giving Magic a loose rein as the cob nosed Garrison in a friendly way. “But yeah, I guess I am.”

“Aw, that’s great. How’s yer mother?” He seemed to brighten at the very thought of her. “Haven’t seen Miss Eleanor Bodt around here for a while.”

Marco laughed. “Oh, she’s fine. Feisty as usual.”

Hannes gave him a fond grin. “It’d be strange if she weren’t. And you’re doing alright, are you? The both of you?”

“Yeah, we’re managing.” Garrison chose that moment to butt his head into Marco’s chest, and nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“Oi, Garrison! Ye big bully, cut that nonsense out!” Hannes scolded, giving the Shire a hearty whack on his shoulder. Garrison didn’t even flinch. “He’s always trying to get yer attention, Marco. Anyone would think he was a big old pup.”

Marco smiled and gave the giant a small pat. “He’s alright. We’ve always gotten on, haven’t we big guy?” Garrison rumbled out a whicker in reply. “Are you coming to shoe the horses soon?”

“Should be, yeah. But if I have to try to hold that hellion of yours still on me own again I might change me mind.” Hannes grimaced. Marco recalled how badly Titan struggled on shoeing day, and he’d even needed sedating on one occasion. “What’re ye doing down here anyway? Shouldn’t ye be back at the stables helping out yer mother?”

Marco flushed with guilt. “W-well, yeah, but I need to get something to heal bruises…”

“Fallen badly, have ye?” Hannes asked, leaning in close. His eyes squinted. “Should be more careful. Don’t wanna get yerself hurt again now, do ye?”

Marco bit his lip. “N-no, it’s not for me, it’s for someone I know…”

Hannes didn’t look convinced, but after a moment he shrugged. “Ah, well Arnica oil’s probably the way to go. That stuff can clear up bruises sharpish. They got some in the pharmacy, shouldn’t be too pricey neither,” he said, sticking a hand in his pocket and bringing out a lump of sugar for Garrison to crunch.

“Thanks, Hannes. You’re a lifesaver,” Marco beamed. He dismounted from Magic as carefully as he could without causing any shooting pain in his leg, and led the cob over to a tether. “I had no idea what I was looking for.”

“No worries, Marco. Anywho, I best be off: the Springers want me to help mend their roof. Clumsy blighters, the whole bunch of them- if they had brains they’d be bloody dangerous folk. Still, can’t complain.” He winked. “Say hello to Ellie from me, and tell ‘er I’ll be round to shoe the horses soon.”

Marco grinned. “I will, see you soon!”

He had gone to walk into the shop when Hannes called out his name. He turned back with a frown. Hannes was seated back on the cart again now, Garrison back in work mode with ears forward and alert and head up. He shifted his seat slightly, and called out, “Thought ye might want to know that there’ve been sightings again. Of them ferals.”

Marco’s face drained of any colour. “Wh-what?” he stammered, his entire body feeling as though it was quickly becoming flooded with concrete. “Wh-where, why are they- how are they- where?”

Hannes gave him a sympathetic look. “Somewhere up on the moors. Folk think they’ve been breeding up there. Dunno where they came from though, thought they’d wiped ‘em all out after- well, you know, after what happened an’ all.” He looked uncomfortable. “Forget I said anything. Just thought you ought to know. I know how yer mother worries.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue and a heavy ‘walk on’ and Garrison sprang into a swaying, gigantic-strided walk, the wheels of the cart following in the hoof-prints’ wake.

Marco got the ointment. He went back to the stables, and took a walk-out onto the green. He listened to the children's chatter, nodding in all the right places, and kept a close eye on the ponies in case they decided to be stubborn or slow. But he wasn't really _there_. He was lost in his own head, repeating Hannes's words over and over like they were on a spin cycle.

_Ferals, ferals, ferals._

Just when things were starting to look up, he thought bitterly to himself.

He tried to ignore them, to block them out, to imagine a door swinging shut on them like he'd been told to do once by a therapist. But no matter what he did, he couldn't shake them. No one seemed to notice though, he realised with relief. They had their own minds to dwell in enough, without worrying about the owner's son who smiled at everything. They didn't even notice him tripping over things more than usual, his thoughts getting so clogged in his mind that they even clogged his vision. He was thankful. He didn't want people to know. He didn't want their questions or sympathy.

However, there was one person who did notice.

"Okay, so spill. What's wrong?"

Marco was sat in the tack room cleaning a particularly beaten up saddle when he heard the demand. It was late in the day, and the lessons were all done. He straightened up, frowning into the mellowing sunlight, and saw Jean there, saddle in his arms and frowning just as hard back at him. "Wh-what? Nothing's wrong," he said immediately.

"Bullshit. Something's up, I can tell." Jean wandered into the shade of the tack room, throwing the saddle onto its waiting stand with a heavy sounding grunt. "You're thinking too much."

"How do you know when I'm thinking?" Marco asked, going back to lathering the pommel of the saddle with soap.

"Your brows press together and you bite you lips more than usual." He heard more than saw Jean sit down next to him; the way he grunted and groaned told Marco that his bruises really were taking their toll.

He smiled. "Aw, I never knew you paid that much attention to me, Jean."

"You're not wriggling out of it by embarrassing me, Freckles. So come on," he poked him in the side, "Spill."

Marco twitched and stopped scrubbing the leather with saddle soap. He sighed. "I just... found something out, that's all."

"What sort of something?"

"Does it really matter?" Marco asked.

"Yes, because it's bothering you, and I wanna know." Jean had reached out to him, and Marco could feel the fingers that played with the back of his hair like he was waiting for them. He loved his hair being played with, and he had a feeling that Jean knew it. "C'mon baby, tell me."

Marco huffed. "Honestly, I call you baby one time in the heat of an emotional moment..."

**_"Marco."_ **

"Ugh, fine." Marco jerked his head away from Jean and fixed him with a scowl. "There are ferals about again. And you won't know what they are because you don't come from here, so you won't understand how bad that is but it is and I need to tell mum about it but I don't want to worry her and-"

"Woah, woah, slow down," Jean said, holding up a hand, "ferals?"

Marco sighed. "Ferals are just... animals that don't have owners, or did have owners once but don't anymore. Jinae's always had problems with people leaving animals to fend for themselves, and there have been a few sightings again. That's all."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "That's all? You're worried about a bunch of homeless animals wandering about?"

Marco bit his lip. "It's not...really like that..."

"Then what is it then?"

"Why are you so curious today? Just leave it alone." Marco went back to cleaning the saddle. He hadn't snapped, or gotten angry, but he might as well have. Jean treated him like he had. He must have known, however inherently, that he'd hit a nerve.

There was silence for a little while, and Jean's hand returned to play with Marco's hair, but as Marco predicted, Jean couldn't let the quiet last long. "Does that mean there are horses roaming around up there too?"

Marco paused, then nodded. "Sometimes. They get rounded up and sold off, though. Or given back to their owners, if they're runaways."

"You ever seen one?"

Marco nodded. "Yeah, loads of times. When I used to take Titan up on the green..." his voice trailed off. His throat seemed to tighten as something flashed in his vision. _The memory. The mist. The screaming._ He shook himself before he had the chance to start shaking. "W-when I took Titan up on the green, there used to be a small group there. Jester and Raven were ferals, but when they were sold off mum snapped them up. Piebalds are good luck around here."

Jean made a small hum that sounded like he was impressed. "I wouldn't have known they were feral. They're pretty well behaved now, and they don't look it."

"Ferals can be all shapes and sizes. They don't have to be mud-caked, rain-soaked ponies."

"Huh."

Jean was quiet for a little while, and Marco was grateful for it. He found that he'd been polishing the saddle for far too long, and now it was gleaming like it was the best competition saddle. He winced and thrust it back on its stand. It would be alright; one ride in the arena and it would look just as dirty as it had before. He stood up and arched his back, clicking his spine back into a more comfortable place with a grunt. "Well, there's that done. I think mum will forgive me for skiving on the mucking out."

"Ah, she won't know, I did some of it," Jean replied, scrambling to his feet.

Marco looked back at him. "Y-you did? Oh, but Jean, your bruises..."

"Aren't anything I can't handle." He reached up and gave Marco a small peck on the cheek. "It was the least I could do, seeing as you were getting something for me anyway." A lewd grin then appeared on his face. "You gonna rub all the ointment on me later?"

Marco felt his cheeks burning with a blush. "Er, w-well, uh, I was going to, but not when you're looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" Jean asked, his innocent voice contrasting with the wry chuckle that came out of his lips as he stepped into Marco's space, hands going around Marco's neck before he could even stop them. "Don't know what you're talking about, Freckles..." Jean tilted his head and caught Marco's lips in his own, letting out a gentle murmur as they connected, and Marco felt the other boy's hands drift down to his hips, moving behind to grab at his-

"Oh! Jean!" Marco scolded, pulling away from him in an instant. "We're in public!"

"We're in a tack room," Jean pointed out. "No one's gonna come in."

Marco scoffed and folded his arms stubbornly, attempting a glare down at smirking boy. "You're not feeling me up in a tack room, Jean. What if my mum comes in?!"

Jean chuckled. "Man, you're cute when you're flustered."

"Sh-shut up!"

Jean laughed properly then, and Marco gave him a gently conscious shove as he gathered up his things. "You feel up for a little ride?" Jean asked. "Sina hasn't been out all day."

“Uh, are you sure? With your bruises…”

Jean scoffed. “I’ll be fine, stop worrying. You game?”

Marco smiled. "Sure, I can get Champ saddled up." That was their usual dynamic; Jean on Sina and Marco on Champ. It meant Marco couldn't do much more than a steady walk and a bouncy trot, but he didn't mind. Jean would take off at a furious pace, Sina swallowing up the ground with her snappy strides as they cantered over the springy turf, and Marco would just trot along behind, Champ blowing through his nose and trying to keep up with the mare more than half his age. It was a system, and Marco was just fine with it.

But Jean looked as though he was going to change it. "Actually, I wondered if you could, uh, get Titan's tack."

Marco stared blankly at him, like he had just spoken a different language. "T-Titan's?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yeah..." Jean frowned at him. "Is that alright?"

Marco gulped. His chest was going tight again, his breathing ragged. "I d-don't know..." he admitted. He was being honest. He really didn't know. He had felt so much better now he had his confidence back, and he was sure it showed. But every now and again things would slip up and he'd get a flash of fear or a hint of panic that left him grasping his chest and trying to get his heart rate back to normal. And every instance involved Titan. "I'm sorry, Jean, I am trying," he said when he saw Jean's look of slight disappointment, "but it's hard."

"Hey, it's alright, I know. Don't worry about it. You'll get there soon enough, trust me." For once, Marco believed someone when they said those words. Usually they were lying through their teeth to make him feel better, but Jean meant it. He shrugged. "In that case... do you want to try out Sina?"

Marco blinked at him. "Sina? But Jean, she's your horse."

"I know. I just..." Jean shrugged. "I dunno, Sina's a little more headstrong than Magic and Jester and all the others here. She's a little closer to Titan. Maybe it'd help."

_Maybe_ , Marco found himself thinking, _or maybe she'll just make it all the more worse_. "I dunno, Jean..." he said, frowning.

"C'mon, you can do it. And I could... well, maybe I could..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, refusing to meet Marco’s eye.

Marco's eyes widened. "You want to ride Titan?" he asked incredulously.

Jean glanced back at him. "Only if you're okay with it! I just... I guess I'm a little curious. And I wanna see if I can control him better than Jaeger did."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Is this weird feud between you going to carry on much longer?"

Jean grinned. "Is that a yes, I can ride Titan?"

Marco sighed. He didn't want Jean getting hurt, but he wasn't Eren. He listened to horses, understood what they needed and what they preferred. Eren, as great a rider as he was, only knew how to ride a specific kind of horse. Titan wasn't that type, and that was why the two clashed. Maybe Jean had a better chance; after all, he did seem to get on with Titan a lot better on the ground than Eren did. Titan had even started whinnying for Jean as well as Marco whenever he passed by the stall. Marco felt the last bit of resolve crumble at that thought. "Yeah, okay," he said. Jean's face lit up. "B-but if he starts acting up, you get straight off of him, okay?"

"Define 'acting up'."

_"Jean."_

"Alright, alright, sheesh." He still couldn't wipe the grin off his face as Marco handed him Sina's tack and took Titan's himself. For a moment, he wondered whether or not Jean's adamant pleas to ride Titan were for reasons other than mere curiosity, but he ignored the vicious thoughts the second they came to the surface. Sometimes he hated being so paranoid. Jean slung Sina's saddle onto his shoulder and offered a slightly less enthusiastic smile. "Marco, it'll be fine. I just want to get a feel for him, that's all. I'm not going to go galloping off into the sunset with him."

"I know that!" Marco felt himself blush. How had Jean known what he was thinking? "Let's tack them up," he said, forcing a smile onto his face as he walked past Jean and towards Titan's stall.

Jean grabbed his hand before he could get very far, and pulled him back to plant a small kiss against the corner of his mouth. "See you in ten," he murmured, still smiling as he released him, and Marco gave him a genuine smile in return.

Walking to the stall, he felt the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't felt it for a while, and it felt almost alien to sense it now. Because he realised, as he slid the bolt back from the door and gave the curiously seeking Titan a gentle nudge back into the confines of the stable, that he was actually feeling the flutters of excitement in his stomach.

* * *

 

"Woooo! Yeah! I'm beating your ass good, Marco!"

"Oh really? Not if I catch up!"

The green was filled with the sound of thundering hooves as a pair of horses raced over the summer turf, riders hunched over their necks and letting out loud whoops of encouragement every now and again to urge their mounts on faster. Jean was ahead for the moment, and Marco gave a click with his tongue to Sina. She surged forward with the power of a hurricane, Marco clinging to her neck and laughing breathlessly as she fought to keep pace with her giant companion.

Getting used to Sina had been tricky for Marco; he could practically feel the fire crackling in the mare's blood when he took the reins, and felt every tension she made in her muscles when she moved. But, contrary to his beliefs, Sina was quite well behaved. Jean had her trained well, Marco figured as she lengthened her stride an inch.

Titan had been a little trickier. Though the lungeing lessons were regular and going well, he was still fizzy from lack of exercise, and once Marco led him out into the courtyard fully tacked, the gelding had started to misbehave. He held his head high and half reared in his eagerness, a small squeal rushing from him and startling the other inhabitants as Marco tried to get him under control. Jean had snatched up his helmet and dragged the gigantic horse to the mounting block, and once he'd swung onto Titan's back the gelding almost exploded in a mass of skittering hooves and energetic neighs until Jean had him on the bit and under control. Marco had to admit he'd been impressed by how well Jean had handled Titan's hyperactive behaviour. And the first thing Jean had decided to do upon reaching the top of the green? Gallop the energy right out of him.

But, Marco thought as he spared the charging giant next to him a glance, it was a good idea. Titan was enjoying himself, head down and pulling at the reins as he galloped, and by the sound of Jean's cheers and arrogant boasts, he was enjoying himself too. He hadn’t seen Titan gallop as strongly he was for a long time, and he felt his chest swell with pride at just how beautiful he looked. He wasn’t galloping- he was _flying._ “Come on Marco, Sina can go faster than that! We’re gonna leave you two in the dust!” Jean taunted over the noise of hooves.

Marco grinned. “You want a bet?” He clicked his tongue again, and loosened his grip on the reins a fraction so the mare could have her head. Sina rewarded him with a surge in pace, a surge Marco didn’t quite expect, and the two horses were now running neck and neck, their breaths laboured and heavy. Marco looked ahead of them and saw that the path was narrowing into a more sheltered area, and knew it was time to slow the pair down before they crashed into each other at the end. But they still had enough time for a few strides more, and Marco wanted to wipe that smug look off Jean’s face. He leant into Sina’s neck, letting himself move with her like he’d seen Jean do hundreds of times, and when he glanced over at Titan he could barely see Jean in the mass of black mane that covered him. He covered up his snigger and pressed his knees tighter to Sina’s sides, silently urging her on. The mare’s ear flicked back, as though she was listening to him, and then pulled ahead by a nose.

“Aw what, that’s not fair!” Jean cried as he sat back in the saddle, his grip on the reins tightening as he saw the narrowing of path. “You saw that coming!”

“Of course I did, I live here,” Marco said with an innocent smile, pulling Sina up with as much strength as he could muster. His arm muscles complained for a moment, but the mare relented and dropped back to a rushed canter, and then a bouncy trot. He leant down to give her a gentle pat. “But I won. Technically.”

Jean scowled at him as Titan too dropped back to a trot, though the gelding continued to fight the reins. Jean was doing a good job of ignoring him, despite the faces Titan was making. “You cheated. Besides, I’m injured,” he sniffed.

Marco scoffed. “Psh, as if you can use that.” He let his gaze land on Titan, who’d reluctantly settled down into a walk beside Sina, and smiled. “You ride him really well.”

Jean went pink. “You think?” he asked nervously.

“Yeah. He listens to you. There’s not many people he’ll do that for.” He let the sly tone slip back. “Must be the early morning chats you two have.”

“Could be, but that doesn’t explain the- hey, wait, how do you know about those?” The look of absolute scandal on Jean’s face was so hilarious Marco couldn’t help himself. He was forced to clutch his stomach with laughter as Jean squawked, “you’ve been _spying_ on me?!” at an unbelievable volume. It even spooked some birds out of the trees nearest them. Titan twitched a little, but did nothing else, to Marco’s relief. “Seriously dude, when did you see me talking to Titan?!”

“I’m not telling,” Marco replied in a singsong voice.

“Marco Bodt, you tell me right now.”

Marco grinned smugly. “Make me.”

Jean slumped in his saddle and covered his face with one hand to hide his embarrassment. “Ugh my god, you’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

Marco felt a comfortable kind of warmth blossom in the centre of his body. He beamed at Jean, still hiding his face. “I’m your boyfriend now?” he asked, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. It was the first time Jean had called him that. It felt better than he could have ever imagined.

Jean peeked out from behind his fingers. “Well, of course you are,” he mumbled, dropping his hand back to its place on the reins. He offered him a strangely shy smile. “God, I’ll call you my boyfriend more often if I get that fucking ray of sunshine smile.”

Marco chuckled, his own cheeks turning pink at the comment. “Oh, shut up.”

His eyes then caught a shape moving in the distance, and his smile was replaced by a slight frown. It wasn’t very common for people to use the green as a footpath, as they knew it was used by the Bodt stables’ horses, and it was usually people who’d lost their way. He rose up in his stirrups to a standing position, still frowning as Sina shifted underneath him in confusion. “What is it?” he heard Jean ask.

“Something’s coming up the path,” Marco said, his voice distant as he sat back down and squinted at the shape. Whatever it was, it was heading towards them fast. Maybe it was a jogger. Or a fox, he thought as it got smaller. Or a rabbit, he thought as it got closer still. It couldn’t be a…

Marco’s eyes snapped open. He stopped Sina dead. Any ounce of colour drained from him in an instant. His heart slammed into his ribcage so violently it hurt. He forgot how to breathe.

“Marco?” Jean was alert now. “Marco, what-?”

“Get off Titan,” Marco said in a single breath, his eyes not even moving from the shape.

“Wha-”

“Jean, please listen to me, get off of him. Right now.” Marco was frozen. He couldn’t move. He _couldn’t_. It sounded stupid, but that little shape rushing towards them at breakneck speed had him paralysed. Titan was standing quietly at the moment, looking just as confused as Jean did, but that was because he hadn’t caught sight of what was heading straight at them. When he did…

“GET OFF OF TITAN RIGHT NOW,” Marco shouted, but it was at that exact moment that Titan turned to the path ahead- and saw what was coming.

It was a dog. It was a common sheepdog, the kind they used to ferry the livestock back and forth across the farmland. It knew not to touch animals. It knew. Yet it still came tearing towards them like a black and white fur-covered bullet, the grass barely rippling in its wake and its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth.

The effect on Titan was immediate. The gelding exploded. Jean barely had time to mouth a curse before Titan tried to launch himself off his back legs with a loud neigh. When he found himself restricted by Jean’s hold on the reins, he reared up with a wild scream, ears flat back against his head and eyes rolling. Sina let out a whinny of alarm and swung herself free to avoid the giant as he took a few steps back, but Marco had no way of controlling her. All he could do was watch as Titan’s forelegs scraped the air like he was fighting an invisible adversary, and Jean tried his best to hold on. He’d stopped pulling on the reins and instead folded himself against the black crested neck to stop Titan overbalancing, but once Titan landed he didn’t have time to relax. With a squeal, the gelding gave such a gigantic buck that Marco could see it ripple through Titan’s entire body, and Jean seemed to realise that there was no way he could sit it out. Titan was too dangerous, and if he stayed on much longer…

“Get off of him right now!” Marco yelled, his voice hoarse in his throat. He didn’t need to tell Jean again; Jean kicked his feet free of the stirrups in a second and threw himself off Titan’s back, landing with a barely concealed cry of pain in the grass.

Now there was no one to hold him back, Titan let out a ferocious noise and wheeled around on his hindquarters, snorting and plunging like a thing possessed, and Marco’s vision suddenly became very slow. His entire body felt too solid and heavy to move, and as he tried to blink it away he saw the outline of Titan’s furious shape become blurry. He couldn’t even tell it was a horse anymore. As it charged headlong towards the smaller shape, the one that was now backing away and whining, Marco heard a ringing in his ears. The ringing was small at first, the tinkling of bells, but then it increased to a tinny roar amid the screams of Titan and the drumming of hooves.

And then the next thing he knew, he was on his back in the grass with Sina staring down at him in alarm and Jean shaking him so hard Marco was sure his teeth were rattling. “Hey! Hey, you alright? Goddamn you, you fucking scared the living shit out of me!” Jean hissed, and Marco could see it. Jean was white as a sheet, and gripping his shoulders so hard it was painful.

“Wh-what happened?” he said. He felt like he’d been drinking; he was groggy and slurring his words, and as he looked up at Jean he swore he saw two of him.

“You just dropped off Sina like a dead weight! I didn’t know what the fuck you were playing at!” Jean said.

“I did?” Marco frowned. It felt like the biggest effort in the world. “…must’ve fainted.”

“Yeah, you fucking must have!” Jean all but shouted at him. Marco could feel Jean’s hands shaking on his shoulders. “Oh my God, I thought you’d fucking died of fright or something!”

“Y’can’t…technically die of fright…” Marco tried to point out. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. He tried to ignore it.

Jean just crushed him to his chest, despite Marco making a slow wailing noise of complaint. “Shut up you f-fucking smartass. Don’t you dare go doing that to me again, you hear me?”

Marco felt a little more of his sense return to him, and nuzzled himself against Jean’s chest with a laboured breath. Their ride had turned from the best progress in months to the worst re-imagining ever, and it churned his stomach. “I’m sorry…”

“You better fuckin’ be.”

“I just panicked…”

“No fuckin’ shit Sherlock.”

“Wh-where’s…” Marco pulled away then, ice trickling into his stomach. “Where’s Titan? Wh-where is he Jean, what did he do?”

Jean sighed and brushed some of Marco’s hair out of his face with trembling fingers. “C-can you not just think about yourself for once?” he said.

“Where’s Titan?” Marco repeated, twisting his head around to look for him.

“He’s fine, he’s here,” Jean breathed, shifting slightly to expose the path in front of them.

And sure enough, there he was. The great black body was shivering from head to foot with nerves, his stomach heaving as he breathed almost as heavily as Marco, but he was deadly still. The wind blew his mane back, swung the trailing reins, made the abandoned stirrups jangle against their buckles. But he stood there, eyes fixed on the path ahead, nostrils flaring. A gun could have gone off, and Marco was sure he wouldn’t move a muscle. He was just standing there as though he was cut from rock, shuddering and quaking.

“Wh-where’s the-?”

“The dog ran off. Titan charged at it, and it got the hell out of here. Smart move.”

“And then wha-?”

“Titan came back. He stood there. And I haven’t been able to get him to budge.” Jean’s frown increased as Marco tried to stand, his injured leg wobbling with the effort. “Hey, hey, take it easy. You’re gonna be groggy for a while, you know.”

“I know,” Marco said weakly. “Just… get me over to him. I can get him to move.”

“Marco, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Please?”

Jean muttered something about ‘the things I do for you’ but supported Marco under his arms as he rose to his full height, his head resting in the curve of Jean’s neck. His breath calmed. “O-okay, get me over there.” Jean gave him a glance that told Marco he really wasn’t happy about moving him anywhere, especially nearer to a potentially dangerous animal, but he released him a little in order to nudge him forward, his arm still around him protectively. Marco tried to smile at him, but that took effort that his brain did not want to process just yet. The closer he got to Titan, the more he seemed to tremble, but whenever Jean broke pace Marco carried on, teeth gritted.

_No. He wasn’t going to walk away this time. If he walked away now, everything he’d done so far would have been for nothing._

Titan was still looking dead ahead, even when Marco brushed so close to him he could feel the gelding’s body heat rolling off of him in waves. Titan was sweating, from the gallop or the stress he wasn’t sure, but when he laid a trembling hand on Titan’s shoulder his horse twitched like an oversized fly had bitten him. “H-hey, Titan, it’s alright,” Marco soothed, trying to keep his voice from cracking as he worked his hand in circles on the quivering shoulder, looking everywhere but at Jean. He needed to focus on Titan. He was the important one right now. “I know, I know boy, just take it easy.” Titan didn’t move. Marco bit his lip. “H-hey, come on, just calm down. You’re okay. I’m okay. I’m here.” He moved so he was standing in front of Titan, and reached up to stroke his neck. He kept doing the same small circular motions he’d done before, refusing to take his eyes off him. “L-look at me, Titan,” he said in a small voice. He took the reins under the gelding’s chin and gently lowered his head down, running his knuckles up and down the thin flash of white on Titan’s face. “Look, I’m okay. It’s not like before, you’ve not done anything wrong, you’re a good boy, come on.”

Titan blinked once.

And then his ears swivelled around.

Marco let out a sigh of relief. Titan shifted his weight then, the trembles gone, and he arched his head away from Marco’s grasp and turned to look at Jean, his eyes still worried but softer now. “What,” Jean breathed, “was that about?”

Marco’s stomach wanted to explode. It felt toxic and strange, as though everything wrong about himself would spill out of his mouth if he even tried to word a sentence, but he managed to keep it hidden from Jean as best he could. “Wh-what, with Titan?”

“Just…” Jean took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, his stressed fingers ruffling it beyond control, “all of that. Marco, you have to tell me. Right now.” Marco’s stomach gave a particularly bad lurch. “I know it’s to do with your accident, and I think we’ve gone far enough for me to still be in the dark, don’t you?” He sounded angry, defensive, but Marco realised that Jean wasn’t actually any of those things.

He was scared.

He wasn’t scared like he’d been with Marlow; he was scared for _Marco._

Jean took a step closer, eyeing Titan warily as he did so, before saying in a slightly calmer voice, “Marco, please. I need to know. And I think you know that.”

Marco sighed. He knew. “N-not here,” he said finally, laying a hand on Titan’s nose absent-mindedly, “back at the house.”

Jean nodded, and took Titan’s reins from Marco. “Get back onto Sina, I’ll give you a leg up,” he said. “You can’t walk all the way back, not since you fainted _and_ your leg probably hurts even more now.”

Marco tried to protest, but Jean was adamant, and soon he was back in Sina’s saddle, looking down at the liver chestnut neck. Sina seemed to realise that the time was gone for high spirits, and was behaving impeccably as Marco nudged her weakly forwards. Jean didn’t dare get back on Titan again.

As they made their way back to the stables, the sun began to dip over the horizon. Marco turned over all the possible starting points in his head for when they got back. Where was he going to begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I am. More angst to come, wheeeeee x


	16. ...Cus It's All You Can Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, another week another update! Man, this is making me churn out the wordcounts, I swear the chapters get bigger each time...  
> Sooooo the big thing. We find out what really happened in regards to Marco and Titan's accident, Jean being a (surprisingly good) comforter, and new plans.   
> This was quite a heart-rencher to write, I have to admit, so I hope you like it :) Feedback is literally what gives me life at the moment and keeps me motivated, and I'm so happy that this li'l fic is being enjoyed by people, it's really great to see! 
> 
> My tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/

The walk home was a subdued affair, with neither boy really saying anything to the other. Marco was too busy trying to keep his insides where they should be. They felt like they were squirming around inside of him, writhing like worms, and it was all he could do to stop himself from being sick. Sina moved carefully, as though she was worried she would lose her rider again, and Marco kept patting her for something to do. The dusk was almost upon them by the time they got back to the yard, the warmth of the day a whispered reminder now in the mild wind that blew through the courtyard.

Marco took Titan from Jean with trembling hands, his toxic stomach and writhing insides tripling at the contact, but he said nothing. He needed to save his voice, his words, his energy for what he was about to do. It sounded stupid, having to gear himself up for something so menial as _talking_ , but for Marco it was a marathon stretched out over miles, and he had to conserve everything. Titan walked quietly into his stall, his shakes gone now but the reserved attitude still very much there. Marco took off his saddle and laid it on the stable door, before reaching up to unfasten his bridle. The gelding tossed his head, his ears flying back at the sudden movement, and Marco’s heart just about broke. “T-Titan, come on,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he stroked the velvet nose. “B-be good. Don’t shut me out again.” Titan lowered his head inch by inch, one ear flicking forwards, and Marco took his bridle off in silence. Once it was free, Titan arched his head and stared down at Marco. Marco smiled. “I know, boy. I’m just as bad as you, trust me. I wish you could understand that.” He rested his head against Titan’s nose and sighed, his fingers creasing as they stood together in the stall. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t. It meant he would have to think back, he would have to relive the moment it happened, and he wasn’t sure if he could get back from it. But he had to try.

“Marco.”

He spun around to see Jean leaning on the stable door, watching them both. The amber-fire was crackling again. “You okay?” he asked.

Marco nodded, pulling away from Titan and giving his horse a final pat before half walking, half limping to the stable door, drawing back the bolt and stepping outside with a wince. “I just need to- to put his tack away…” he began.

“I’ll do it,” Jean replied, slinging the heavy saddle over his shoulder and taking the bridle from Marco’s pale grip. “Go into the kitchen or something, put the kettle on. I’ll make us some tea.” He leant closer and planted a delicate kiss on Marco’s cheek, before turning and walking in the direction of the tack room. Marco watched him go for a moment, Jean’s outline staggering a little under the weight of the saddle, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth amid the fear and sickness. Jean really did care so much. He bit his lip through his smile and walked tentatively back to the house.

Eleanor wasn’t in. Marco remembered her mentioning to him that she was going to take a look at one of the locals’ lame horses; she was no vet, but living with Marco’s father had taught her a few things. He couldn’t help but feel relieved about that. At least she wouldn’t walk in on them as Marco tried to get out the most difficult words of his life. Sinking into the nearest chair in the kitchen, he glanced down at the papers littering the table at one end. He shut his eyes. He knew what they were. Bills, bills and more bills. He didn’t know how his mother coped. He didn’t think about it often, but his more vulnerable moments he would drift away and imagine what it would be like if she wasn’t as strong as she was. He heaved out a heavy sigh and raked a hand through his hair. He’d forgot to turn the kettle on. He got up, filled it up, switched it on, all on autopilot. _What was he going to say? How could he even talk about it? Would it sound pathetic, or attention seeking, or weak? Did it matter if it sounded like any of those things?_ He rested his folded arms on the table and tried not to bounce his leg too much. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure of anything, except that it wasn’t a matter of wanting to tell Jean, it was a matter of _needing_ to. Not telling him… what would that even mean? He winced at the thought.

He heard the door creak open pleasantly as it always did, and looked up to see Jean framed in the doorway, thrusting his hands into his hoodie’s pocket as he looked right back at him. “Hey,” Jean said, his voice soft and careful.

Marco smiled. “Hey. I put the kettle on…”

“Thanks.” Jean moved into the kitchen quietly, seeing to the kettle as Marco’s mind continued to whirl. “I dunno why I need to make tea. Apparently that’s what my mum used to do. When- when people needed to talk, or were upset. Or anything really. And I suck at comforting people, so I make tea.” He chuckled weakly. “So stupid.”

Marco heard the spoon chink against the china, and smiled warmly. “You’re not stupid, it’s sweet,” he murmured. Maybe he was still a little groggy, or he was being particularly sappy, but the words came out before he thought about them.

He blushed a little, and heard the smile in Jean’s voice when he replied, “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

A mug appeared over Marco’s shoulder and he took it willingly, fingers curling into the heat he found trapped in the china. The mug had little white horses galloping around it, and Marco watched his thumb stroke the tail of one of them as Jean sat down in the chair opposite him, his own mug in hand. It was a pointless detail, he knew, but Jean was smiling at him earnestly and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. He didn’t feel quite so sick anymore. “I put more sugar in than normal. For… for the shock,” Jean said. “I think that’s what you’re meant to do, God I don’t even know…”

“It’s fine, Jean.” Marco took a sip, and tried not to cringe with just how sweet Jean had made it. It was like he’d tipped the entire sugar pot into it. “Honest.”

There was silence for a moment. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?” Jean pressed. “I mean, I know I said you should, but I was freaking out back there and I would’ve said all kinds of crap-”

“No, I n-need to,” Marco cut in, staring down at the slightly-too-sweet for consumption tea in his mug. “I… want to,” he corrected, glancing back at Jean. “You were right. I’ve kept it inside too long, and you’re the closest anyone’s got to helping me, so.” He shrugged. “You deserve to know.”

Jean nodded, understanding. “Okay, Marco. But if you want to stop or anything-”

Marco reached across the table and put his hand on top of Jean’s. “It’s alright, Jean. I just… give me a minute.”

Jean did. He gave Marco five minutes. Five silent minutes. Five silent minutes where Marco tried to sort out his head, tried to sort out words, tried to sort out everything so it would come out right. It took a while. Eventually, he took a sip of sickly tea and gulped it down a little too hard. _Okay. Here goes._  “Titan was… never an ideal horse,” he began weakly. “He had problems when we first got him. He didn’t like being caught, wasn’t a massive fan of being handled, and he was a bit antisocial towards other horses. S-so he was never perfect. But I guess when I saw him, I just thought he was worth it, imperfections and all. I didn’t want a push-button horse, I never did, and Titan… well, I guess I thought I could fix him. Make him better. Maybe I was just being cocky, I don’t know.” He dropped his head down to stare at the painted horses, trying to block out the memories that came leaping back.

“It took him a while to trust me, but once he did he was exactly the kind of horse I’d hoped for. He still played up, but I didn’t mind - he was headstrong and a little flighty, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. The only time where I knew he would behave himself properly was when he had lots of open space to really gallop. That’s why I used to ride him up on the green so often- I’d let him have his head and he’d just bolt all the way along until I pulled him up. It made him easier to handle and let him blow off steam. And I liked the thrill of the speed…” Marco’s voice trailed off. Here came the hard part. He wet his lips and shut his eyes, ploughing onwards despite the squirming of his stomach returning with a vengeance.

“The day it happened, it was misty. The cloud had really come down in the night, and even though the stables was alright I knew the green would be tricky. I snuck out early, told Erwin not to bother mum or dad, and took Titan straight up there.” His grip on the mug tightened. Suddenly, he was back there, in the mist, riding a spirited Titan up to the green and staring as it stretched out before him, blanketed in mist. It had been like riding through clouds. Marco could still remember thinking to himself: _at least it’s not raining._ He took in a breath. “I didn’t let him gallop. I knew it was too dangerous. But he needed his exercise, so I cantered him.” Titan had been on the bit, pulling for more, but Marco had kept him steady, kept him calm. He’d been careful. “It was alright for a little while, but then the mist got thicker, so I started to pull him back and then-” He needed to breathe. Needed to breathe.

“There was a dog, wasn’t there?” Jean’s voice brought him back to reality. Marco opened his eyes to find Jean watching him, his eyes so intense and focused. Marco could have read off of them.

He nodded, shutting his eyes again. The growling. The hackles. The blackening gums. “It was feral. There were a lot that year, and there were feral horses around too, so the dogs were grouping together to try to pick off the weak ones or the foals. And it came out of the mist so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. Titan swerved to avoid it, but it… it wasn’t like the dogs in the village, it ran at us and jumped at Titan.”

That was when the screams had started. Titan’s angry screams that would have sounded more at home curdling from a wild stallion’s lips ripped through his memory, and he bit his lip.

“T-Titan reared up, he was trying to avoid the dog, but he reared too much and… and he fell. Fell over backwards. I t-tried to get off, tried to jump free, but one of my feet was caught in the s-stirrups so I c-couldn’t get totally clear.”

Everything had felt like it happened in slow motion, because no matter what he did, Marco had known he couldn’t stop what was happening. He’d briefly wondered if Titan was actually going to crush him, and if it would hurt that much to die. Titan had been screaming even as he went down, the giant body thrashing as it tried to right itself too late.

Marco swallowed dryly. “He l-landed on my leg when he fell. The dog tried to attack his legs, his neck, his belly… all the while I was pinned underneath him. I c-couldn’t move, couldn’t shout or scream at the dog to get away, nothing. I was powerless. Titan was trying to get up, but the dog kept coming and I didn’t know what to do. I could see it biting and snapping and snarling a-and I thought that was it. I thought it was going to kill him, then move onto me.” He took a shaky sip of the tea, not caring that it was far too sweet now. “When I f-finally snapped out of it and started to shout at the dog, it took notice of me. A-and at the same time, Titan got up. It only took a second. The dog, it tried to dive between Titan’s legs to get to me, but that was when…” He gulped. His eyes opened when he felt a warmth envelop his clenched fist, and saw that Jean was holding his hand, his thumb stroking the skin of his wrist. He gingerly let his fingers unfurl so that Jean could thread their fingers together. It helped. “T-Titan started fighting back.”

Jean frowned. “He fought back? H-horses don’t do that, they’re flight animals.”

“Well, Titan fought. I didn’t even know horses could fight the way he did. I can’t remember much of it, I must admit.” He could remember the squeals, the thrashing hooves, the rolling eyes. But it felt strange, out of sync and fuzzy to his memory. He closed his eyes, trying to chase the memory down. “All I can remember is that Titan managed to take the dog by the s-scruff of its neck, and he just… he _threw_ it. Away from us. He _threw_ it. A-and then when the dog hit the ground and tried to get up h-he just…” He choked on his words. Jean squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue. “He just…kept…on…stamping on it… t-there was blood everywhere, I didn’t know whether it was Titan’s or the dog’s but something was _shrieking._ It was such a horrible noise, it was so desperate and agonised, I couldn’t…” Marco covered his face with his free hand and let out a tearless sob, his body wracked with it. “I couldn’t s-stop it.”

He heard the scrape of the chair being pulled back, and in an instant he was engulfed by Jean, his nose suddenly assaulted by the smell of horse and Jean’s natural musk. Underneath the artificial scent of whatever he’d put on his hair to wrestle it into submission that day, there was something that reminded Marco of woodsmoke and rain. It was like home, and he buried his face against the shaved dark hair of Jean’s undercut with a shudder. He wasn’t done. He had to carry on, even if it destroyed him.

“I blacked out after that, o-or I can’t remember what happened, but Erwin said he’d come up looking for me with D-dad because I’d been a long time and when they found me Titan wouldn’t let them come near me. He was bleeding really badly, and c-covered in blood and mud from where he’d fallen, but he didn’t move. He went for my Dad, and nearly bit his arm in two. They had to t-tranquilise him before they could get near me.” He tightened his grip on Jean’s hoodie. “A-and they said they saw the dog, or what was left of it…” his breath hitched. “He’d trampled it to pulp. It didn’t even look like a dog anym-more. It was just…” He crumpled.

He couldn’t do it.

He’d said enough.

“Was Titan alright?” Jean asked carefully, drawing away to watch him.

Marco picked up his mug with shaking hands, and gulped. Jean knew what to ask. He knew that Titan would have been all Marco cared about the moment he was conscious, even if he had woken up terrified of being anywhere near him. “H-he had bad wounds…b-bite marks and scratches… he’d lost a lot of blood, but the vet got to him in time. He still has some scars on his neck from where it tried to…” He grimaced. “He w-wouldn’t let anyone near him for months.”

“And you?”

Marco sighed. “I was unconscious for three days. They saved my leg, but only just. The bone was shattered, but wasn’t pulverised- if it had been, I’d have had to have had it amputated, the doctor said.” He looked up from his mug and stared at Jean. “I-I’ve got a metal plate in it now, to support it, and I’ll always have a bit of a limp, but I still have a leg, I guess. The doctor said I have to be careful, though- if I overexert it, I could break it again.”

“Y-you could?” Jean paused for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me that? When I was trying to get you to ride?”

Marco shrugged. “Because you’d have looked at me in the same way you’re looking now. And it was nice to have someone who didn’t want to pity me.”

The silence that greeted his words wasn’t as uncomfortable as Marco thought it would be. Jean just held him close again, even though he was bending down to do it and it was probably hurting his spine. Jean seemed to be thinking the same thing too, because he muttered, “D-don’t think I’m pulling a fast one, but my back is killing me.” Marco was going to question him, but then he felt Jean sit on his lap, long legs laid out either side of him, and even though he was hurting and upset and emotional he couldn’t help the blush that sprang to the surface. The feel of Jean so close to him steadied his fevered breaths, his hiccoughing sobs. He buried himself further into Jean’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Jean murmured against the side of his neck, and Marco shuddered even more. “It could have happened to anyone. It… it wasn’t something you could predict.”

Marco bit his lip. “I always ask myself w-what would’ve happened if I’d have just stayed in bed. If I’d just slept in, and taken Titan up later on and not been so impatient…”

“You could ask what if with anything. What if I hadn’t met Marlow? What if, God forbid, I met someone who actually gave me confidence instead of taking it away? What if…” Jean’s voice broke, “…wh-what if I’d met you sooner?”

Marco did sob then. It was a weak, broken sound, and he clutched Jean tighter to him. “Y-you’ve got me now… even if I’m like this.”

“Like what?” Jean’s trembling lips found Marco’s neck, and Marco closed his eyes at the contact. “You’re cute, and funny and caring a-and I dunno what the hell else ‘cus you’re like everything.” Jean pulled away and their eyes met. Jean was close to breaking point too; Marco could tell by the way he was blinking so violently. It was to ward off the tears. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you, Marco,” Jean said, his voice bordering on fierce. “I swear it.”

Marco smiled weakly. “That’s sweet of you to say, Jean, but-”

“Marco.” The amber-fire blazed. “You’re perfect. However corny that sounds.”

Marco felt the blush creep up against his skin, and this time it suppressed the bad feelings, all of the horrible squirms and stabs and hurt that constantly got to him. He wanted to argue back. Jean’s face stopped him. “W-well… now you know…” he said, looking away from him. “That’s the reason I can’t ride Titan. Seeing him kill that dog, it was just… it was _savage_. And I found myself thinking, what if it were me in its place? What if I was the one Titan thought was the enemy, the something that was trying to hurt him? I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Marco, I don’t think that’s how it was at all.” His eyes flew back to Jean’s. The other boy had Marco’s face cupped in one hand, his fingers trailing into the beginnings of dark hair at his temple.

“Y-you don’t?” Marco frowned.

“Marco… I think Titan was protecting you,” Jean said, his fingers actually disappearing into Marco’s hair as he moved. “I think he stood in the way because he didn’t want you to get hurt. That was why he attacked your dad: he didn’t mean to, he was still just panicked. He was panicked because you weren’t moving, and he thought it was all his fault. He _loves_ you, Marco. And I think that’s why he stopped at the showgrounds, too.”

Marco wiped his eyes uselessly, the tears streaming down his face so quickly now it was impossible to catch them. “W-what?” he mumbled.

“At the showgrounds. When he’d been spooked, and he’d kicked Erwin, and he was running around like a wild animal you shouted for him. You called for him, and he came running, Marco.” Jean smiled and stroked the side of Marco’s face gently, ignoring the ugly sniffles and sobs Marco was making an excellent job of making. “He came running because he knew you would protect him like he protected you. And he stopped. He wouldn’t have stopped for anyone, Marco. He stopped for you.”

Marco let out a last shuddering sob, a feeble attempt to suck in oxygen, and slowly, steadily, he calmed down. It was Jean’s turn to hold him and smooth his hands up and down Marco’s back whilst murmuring that everything was going to be okay. And even though Jean was so adamant that he wasn’t a good comforter, he was better than he realised, Marco thought to himself. His shudders started to soften under Jean’s touch, and he leaned into his shoulder. “You make me feel b-better,” he mumbled. It was a stupid thing to say, he realised with a wince, but Jean didn’t seem to notice.

“At least I’m good for something,” he replied.

Marco pulled away and frowned at him, the sniffling ruining the effect to an extent. “D-don’t say that. Please… don’t think you’re not worth anything, Jean. Not with me.”

The amber eyes widened a fraction. Marco sniffed again, rubbing ruthlessly at his face to ward off the tears. Jean offered him a small smile and nodded. “Okay. Okay, sure. Though I dunno what you’d do to me if I did.”

Marco rested his head against Jean’s, a small chuckle fluttering forth. It felt good. It felt natural. “I’d snot you to death,” he replied.

“Eww.”

Marco laughed and let the kiss he planted on Jean's lips linger, just for a moment. "I mean it. Don't talk about yourself like that. You're so much more than you think you are," he said. "After all, you got me talking about my accident, you should get credit for that."

"You did that all on your own, you pillock," Jean muttered, but there was little conviction in the tone. "C'mon," he said, rising from the chair that held the two of them. It creaked in relief. "Let's go upstairs. I'm sure I've got a few shitty films on my laptop."

Marco let Jean pull him up by a hand, and kept hold of it as they made their way up the stairs, squeezing it every now and again to make sure that it was still there. Their half-empty mugs stayed where they were on the kitchen table, steam still rising from their rims and the white horses still galloping on their endless track.

 

* * *

 

"I had a thought this morning," Jean began at breakfast.

Both Marco and his mother looked up from opposite ends of the kitchen. Marco was making coffee for him and Jean, and Eleanor was trying (and failing) to fish a scorched piece of toast from their temperamental toaster. Jean looked the more awake of the three of them. "What's that, Jean?" Eleanor asked, turning back to her mission. She swore loudly as she missed for the fifteenth time.

"What if you got someone to help Titan out?"

Marco frowned as he turned around, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. "What do you mean? Training?" he said, setting one down next to Jean.

"Something like that, yeah." Jean drew the mug close to him as he continued, "Titan has a dog problem. That's a given, seeing as he had to go through... well, he had to go through what he did with you. He's still traumatised by the accident, don't you think?"

"Well..." Marco sat down next to him, raking a hand through his already unruly hair. It was behaving even less this morning, and had taken to sticking up at remarkable angles. Marco wasn't even sure if gravity applied to his hair nowadays. "He still seems a little tense when we're not in the yard, yeah."

"Was he behaving oddly out on the green, then?" Eleanor asked. She'd succeeded in impaling the incriminating toast with a butter knife, and was holding it aloft in triumph, a hissed 'yessssss' issuing from behind her teeth.

Jean and Marco shared a glance. They'd known it would be impossible to pretend the incident with Titan hadn't happened, least of all to Eleanor, but they had only told her the bare bones: namely that Jean had ridden Titan up on the green with Marco on Sina. She had been surprised to find out that Jean now knew the ins and outs of Marco’s accident, adding that Marco had only spoken to her and a therapist about it before, but she seemed rather pleased all the same.  She didn't need to know about the rest, Marco reasoned, and Jean was inclined to agree with him. "He... acted up a little bit, yeah," Marco admitted with a reddening face, taking a sip of his coffee out of nerves. It was too hot, and burnt the back of his throat. "Nothing Jean couldn't handle."

"Flatterer." Jean took a slightly smaller gulp of his own mug. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I don't know if you know this, but Trost Academy's trainer, Levi, he worked in France for a while breaking in horses and training them. His expertise is with problem horses; horses with phobias and problems their owners can't solve."

Marco froze mid-sip. Was Jean really insinuating what he thought he was? "You want me to bring Titan to Trost?" he asked, confused.

"Not permanently! Just so Levi can take a look at him. He might be able to help him, that's all."

"But Levi's training you to compete, isn't he? He doesn't want anything else on his plate, surely..."

Jean snorted. "You don't know Levi. His job is his life. He had a mare with a broken foot he was reschooling in the yard a few months back, Dad was fine with it." He looked sheepish as he then added, "I figured that if Titan could get trained to not view dogs as such a threat anymore, you'd feel more comfortable around him. That's all."

"That's a very nice offer, sweetie, but we just don't have the money," Eleanor said, placing a new victim in the toaster and springing it down. "I assume that Levi would want to be paid, and we just can't do that."

Marco sighed. He didn't like talking about money; it embarrassed him sometimes, how little they had. He kidded himself that they were doing just fine, that they were comfortable, but in reality they were just getting by. If he thought about it too much, it made him panic. They couldn't afford to splash out on a fancy trainer for Titan, or for any kind of therapy. He'd wanted to, weeks after his accident, but the money had been tight even then. A working riding stables didn't bring in as much profit as anyone would have thought, and it was an infuriating thing. Without his Dad’s veterinary income, they were only just getting by. If he had money, he would send Titan to the best trainers in the world if he thought it would do the gelding some good, but he didn't.

"O-oh that's alright, I can take care of it," Jean said.

Marco gawped at him. "J-Jean no, you couldn't possibly-"

"Levi might not even take him, Marco. He's really picky, but I thought... I thought it was worth a shot, you know?" Jean swallowed painfully. "I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine, but I thought you could come back with me this Saturday and we could bring Titan too, and let Levi take a look at him. We could stay a night or two, and then drive back here first thing Monday morning for the lessons."

Marco blinked. Jean really had got it all worked out. How long had he been thinking about it? It sounded as though he'd been working it through in his head non-stop for the entire evening. Marco had thought he'd been zoning out whilst they were cuddled together watching some nature program Jean had found on the internet. "I dunno..." he said, looking to his mother for advice.

Eleanor was frowning too. "Levi looks like someone's kicked him up the ass backwards with a spade, he doesn't seem the type to work for free."

"I can sort it, honestly. There's no problem, honestly, I want to do it." Jean was looking at Marco, not at Eleanor when he said it, and Marco twitched as Jean cupped his hand around Marco's. "What have you got to lose? Besides, you can check out your competition." He grinned.

Marco wasn't sure. He wasn't. He thought of Titan travelling, of him getting stressed and antsy and Levi taking one look at Titan and calling him off as a lost cause. But then he found himself nodding, and he got an even brighter grin and a kiss on the cheek as a reward, amid his mother's happy sighs and 'you two are so cute' comments that left them both blushing.

So that was why, a couple of days later, Marco found himself fitting Titan with bright red travelling boots and the lightest, cleanest rug he could find in the tack room that would fit the gelding’s bulk. “I don’t know about this,” he said for the umpteenth time.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jean said from his place on the other side of the stall. “It’s about half an hour’s drive from here to get to Trost, and the academy’s on the outskirts of the city anyway.”

“I’ve never been to Trost,” Marco admitted as he clipped Titan’s rug in place. The gelding shifted and turned to look at Marco with curiosity. “Dad used to go there on his rounds sometimes, but not very often. I only ever went to Shiganshina, and that was as small as this place.”

“Well, Trost is pretty big. And the further you go into it, the more city-like it gets.” Jean had an arm dangling over the stable door as he waited. “But like I said, it’s not too far away, and Titan travels okay, doesn’t he?”

Marco glanced at Titan. Titan looked straight back. “Er… most of the time?” he tried. “So long as the trailer’s moving he should be okay.” He clipped a leadrope onto Titan’s headcollar and patted him reassuringly. The giant head butted him playfully, and as Jean opened the door Titan all but bolted out of the stable, nearly pulling Marco’s arms out of their sockets in the process. “God, Titan calm down!” Marco hissed, keeping his hands soft on the rope to prevent jarring Titan in the mouth. The gelding let out a loud whinny and arched his neck, but with gentle coaxing from Marco he walked leisurely out towards the trailer.

Marco frowned at the sight of it. Newest model, spotlessly clean, no kick marks to be seen: this was definitely a Trost Academy purchase. He looked back at his own beaten up trailer and grimaced. Titan, too, didn’t seem to know what to make of a trailer that wasn’t ten years old. He snorted and pulled at the leadrope Marco held, ears flicking around suspiciously. “Is he alright?” Jean asked, appearing next to Marco.

“I think so, he’s just a bit nervous.” Marco fished out a sugared almond from his pocket and offered it to Titan. It was crushed and gone in an instant. “He’s not used to travelling in such a nice trailer.”

Jean went red. “W-well it wasn’t my decision. If I had the option I’d take the old reliable family heirloom anytime.”

_But we need to make a good impression,_ Marco thought, _and Bodt Riding Stables’ old banger of a trailer isn’t going to do that._

After a lot of coaxing and gentle persuasion, they managed to get Titan into the trailer. He was pawing the artificial ground when Marco returned with his bag for the weekend and he couldn’t help but peek in. Titan’s head shot up like a rumbled schoolchild. “Behave,” Marco said firmly, pointing at him viciously, and that was all they heard of him.

They set off in the early evening, and the sun was still high in the sky as they pulled out of the last curve of Jinaean road and onto the one heading for Trost. Jean’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel with how tightly he was gripping it, and Marco found himself reaching for Jean’s hand whenever he changed gear. He’d never seen Jean drive before; was he really that worried about it? “Sorry,” Jean said, breaking into Marco’s thoughts, “I’m a little… I’m thinking too much.”

“What about?” Marco frowned.

“Just Titan.” Jean tore his gaze away from the road and levelled it at Marco. He smiled. “And you.”

“What about Titan and me?” Marco asked. The smile was a relief. It wasn’t as forced a smile as it could have been.

“Just thinking about how I’m going to have to step up my game when you start riding him again. You’re gonna annihilate me on the jumping courses.”

“What makes you think I’m going to compete?”

Jean frowned. “You have to, with a horse like that. He’d be wasted otherwise.”

“Is that what your Dad tells you?”

“Jean, have you ever had a horse just because you wanted one?” Marco asked.

Jean took a moment to answer. When he did, he sighed. “If I’m honest, no. I mean, I’ve wanted one, and I love Sina to bits, you know I do, but… at the Academy, we just want to win everything. We get the _best_ horses, the _best_ equipment, but it’s just… empty. There’s no real bond between horse and rider like you get at your place.”

“A-at my place?” Marco blushed. “I-it’s not like that…”

“Yeah it is. You have, what, over twenty kids who ride with you? At least. You haven’t got that many horses, but every kid gets to treat their horse or pony like it’s theirs, like it’s something special. Even fucking Jaeger and Magic have a connection. It’s like you guys are in sync. You know how your horses tick.”

Marco frowned. “Trost teaches you that, too. I mean, you can control Sina amazingly well.”

“Controlling a horse and having a bond with it are two different things entirely.” Jean overtook someone carefully, glancing in his wing mirror to check the trailer was still trundling along. “I can control Sina, I know how to make her stop and make her jump, but I don’t know how she _feels_. You were scared to death of Titan and you still _knew_ how he was feeling.” Jean indicated right. “I dunno, I guess I’m just getting a liking for your stables, Freckles.”

Marco smiled. “You don’t have to big up my stables to make me feel better, Jean.”

“I’m not! I’ve always wanted to have that connection, Marco. I’ve always wanted to find out how a horse’s mind works. I’ve been…” Jean dropped his voice a little, “I’ve been shadowing Levi. Dad doesn’t know, but that’s why I know a few things about horse behaviour. All that stuff I told you about with Titan? I know that because of Levi. The guy’s incredible, he’s born gifted I swear to God. He just has this… way about him that the horses trust, even if he’s not exactly a people person.”

Marco remembered Levi from the showgrounds. _‘Not a people person’ was putting it lightly_ , he thought with a grimace. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to cope with someone with a crappy attitude.

Suddenly, Jean pulled off to the left, and Marco started to pay attention to his surroundings. The city of Trost was stretched gleaming before them like a sleeping chrome dragon, the buildings higher than any Marco had seen first-hand. The sheer traffic going into the city looked like twice the population of Jinae crowding into cars, and Marco couldn’t quite believe just how big everything was. It seemed like everything he’d known from Jinae had been taken and stretched so it was ten times bigger. And painted chrome. Of course. “Welcome to Trost,” Jean muttered, changing down the gears as he pulled into one of the slower lanes. “Land of the shitty.”

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Marco said reasonably, peering out of the window at the high-rising buildings and sleek cars. It was a bit too grey for his liking, he had to admit, but he was sure it was an okay place to live. There was nothing _wrong_ with Trost, after all. Marco just preferred the colour and quiet bustle of Jinae. Besides, there wasn’t a horse or paddock in sight. “It’s a bit of a culture shock though,” he admitted as they turned down a road bordered by about five consumer chain coffee shops.

“It takes getting used to,” Jean said. He sounded his horn at a pedestrian choosing to cross at the wrong time. “Out of the way! Can’t you see I’ve got a horse trailer, you idiot?!” Jean yelled out of his window as he surged past them.

Marco blinked. “Polite, aren’t you?”

“You can’t be polite with these people,” Jean huffed. “If you’re polite, they’ll walk all over you. They’ll get away with murder, and we’d be stuck in the same place. Trust me, you learn to get tough.”

Marco sank down in his seat and tried to ignore the concrete and chrome world go by outside his window. He could tell Jean was getting tense by the way he was gripping the wheel again. He realised he hadn’t been totally honest before.

They moved through the outskirts of Trost sluggishly (when Marco showed his surprise at this only being the outskirts, Jean remarked with a smirk, “you have no idea how bad it gets the further in you go”, causing Marco endless worry) but Marco straightened up when he heard Jean sigh in relief and turn off to the left. Before Marco knew it, the grey was replaced with green, the angry scowling people with cows and sheep, and he felt himself becoming a lot more comfortable. “I hate driving through there,” Jean said, “especially with a trailer. All you need is one fucking asshole on the road or on the street that doesn’t look where he’s going or he misses a turning and _bang_.”

Marco frowned at him. “Has that ever happened?”

“Not to me.”

He slid back down in his seat, feeling like that wasn’t a very reassuring thing to hear at all. “Well, that’s a comfort,” he muttered.

“Heyyy, don’t get snarky.” Jean’s normal voice was back, and Marco glanced up from his slouched position. Jean was grinning. “You don’t get snarky often. It’s cute.”

Marco chuckled. “You think everything I do is cute.”

“That’s cus you _are_ cute, now c’mere and let me kiss that cute right off you.”

“Oh haha, you’re so witty- Jean, Jean no, _Jean, watch the road!!”_

It turned out that the road was pretty much deserted, to Marco’s immense relief, and when the turning came up for Trost Riding Academy Jean wasted no time in swinging down the wide path fronted by a sign with the dark blue shape of a horse jumping proudly out of the frame. Marco straightened up out of habit, and gazed out at the window at the rolling pastures either side of them. He picked out the silhouettes of cross country jumps in one, and a hot-walker in another. “You have a hot-walker?” he asked faintly.

Jean glanced in its direction and nodded. “Yup.”

“Jesus.”

The path turned out to be just a very, very long drive, and as they rumbled over the last of it Marco saw that they were driving past the car park (even that looked well-maintained and clean) and instead moved into a broken up horseshoe of pristinely white and blue stables. A few inquisitive heads poked out of their stable doors, and Marco saw that every occupant was sleek, preened to perfection, and had the look of an athlete about it. He gulped, the familiar prickling discomfort seeping into his skin. Through the gaps between a particular block of stalls, he saw a slither of sand arena and rippling movement. There was clearly a further block beyond the initial horseshoe, and at least one outdoor arena too. He gulped again. He really did not belong here. Jean turned the car and trailer around in a wide arc, and when Marco turned to mention something to him he realised why. There was a giant fountain in the centre of the stable area, with a pair of rearing horses at its heart. He gawped. “You have a _fountain?”_ he all but screeched at Jean.

Jean let his eyes flick over to it, and then when they fell back on Marco they were full of confusion and slight embarrassment. “Uh, yeah we have a fountain,” he said.

“A _fountain_ , Jean?!”

“I didn’t pick it!”

Marco put a hand over his face and burst out laughing. He wasn’t really sure why it was so amusing, but it was. “Oh my god, I really do not belong here,” he managed to get out between his chuckles.

“What? Why?” Jean demanded.

“Because you’ve got a bloody fountain!”

“…I have no idea what that has to do with anything.”

Jean’s nonplussed face just made Marco laugh harder, and he sank into his seat with an ugly chortle, clutching his hand to his stomach. He realised it was probably nervous laughter, but that didn’t make it stop. Jean didn’t question him though; he just laughed with him. “It is a bit pointless I’ll give you that,” he admitted through chuckles. “Do you wanna stay with Titan while I go find Levi?”

“Uh, s-sure.” Marco didn’t really like the idea of being left on his own in such a high- rising place, but Jean’s reassuring smile as he killed the engine and got out settled the sudden butterflies in his stomach somewhat. Only somewhat.

He swung out of the car and massaged one arm nervously as he looked around. Everything was so clean, so organised and beautiful and _expensive_ and he really didn’t feel right standing in the middle of it all. He felt like a smudge in the middle of an intricate painting. He thought he felt out of place normally, but this took the crown. Jean pocketed his keys and glanced at Marco. He smiled. “Hey, don’t look like such a Bambi. What’s up?”

Marco blinked, and immediately shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m fine!” he said, his voice a little too loud and his smile a little too bright.

Jean sniggered. “No you’re not.” He took a step closer, arching a brow. “Marco, calm down. It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s not bad at all!” Marco flushed furiously. “In fact, it’s so _good_ that I’m starting to think I look like the odd one out here.”

Jean reached him and let an easy smile work its way onto his face. “Marcoooo,” he whined, tilting his head to one side like a curious puppy.

“What?” Before Marco could react, Jean swooped in for a kiss. Marco’s lips were unyielding at first, very conscious of where he was and what they were doing, but after a bit of gentle teasing on Jean’s part he relented. Unfortunately, that was the moment Jean chose to pull away, his thumb and forefinger still perched on Marco’s chin. He wet his lips and nodded steadily. “Th-that’s an interesting point you raise,” he muttered.

Jean laughed, his thumb playing against Marco’s skin. “I’ll be right back. Check on Titan, okay? Get him out, if you want.” And with a small parting kiss he walked away, through the horse-sized gap in the stable block and into the yard beyond.

Marco bit his lip and looked back at the trailer. He didn’t want to touch anything in case he managed to accidentally break it, but he shuffled over to it awkwardly. He felt like if anyone spotted him they’d think he was some kind of elaborate horse thief, purely by the way he was half-heartedly dressed. Still, he wasn’t here for himself- he was here for Titan. He unfastened the tailgate of the trailer and lowered it carefully, making sure it kissed the ground without an opportunity to scratch.

Titan was stood uncharacteristically quiet, his ears rotating around to pick up all the new noises and his nostrils flaring. He seemed to have travelled alright, and there was no sign of the usual pawing. Marco was thankful for that; he didn’t even want to imagine how much such an expensive trailer would cost to repair. “Okay, Titan,” he said, looking up at the inquisitive gelding, “you have to behave around here. It’s a pretty important place, with pretty important horses. So, best behaviour, understood?” Titan whinnied in reply. His whinny was answered by three different horses, and Marco spun around at the noise. He inwardly scolded himself as he untethered Titan. He was so twitchy. He needed to cut it out. Nerves travelled from handler to horse, and Titan needed no encouragement.

Titan did the usual trick of barging past Marco on the way out of the trailer, swinging his haunches out in a wide arc as his nostrils quivered at the scent of new horses. “Take it easy,” Marco said, having to reach up to keep his hand near Titan’s chin in case the gelding decided he saw something far more interesting in the opposite direction. Titan tried to jerk his head away from Marco’s insisting hands, and let out another whinny as he spun around, pivoting on his strong hind legs and emitting a snort of contempt as he did so. He was a little hot from the journey, Marco noted, and a little bit stressed, but nothing that wasn’t strange to him. He had to admit, he was surprised at how well he was handling Titan, especially after the incident on the green. It was like it couldn’t get to him anymore, like it was there but muffled somehow, muted. And as Titan started to settle, Marco let the grim smile on his face relax into a more genuine one. “There we are,” he murmured, reaching up a hand to play with the gelding’s forelock tenderly, “big baby, getting all worked up, huh?” Titan snorted.

But then, the sound of hooves alerted Marco to a new arrival. A spindly and clumsy looking horse was being led by an even clumsier looking tall boy, and as they walked the horse would skitter sideways at the slightest noise. It looked like it had a great degree of Arabian blood in its veins, its slightly dished face and prancing hooves giving it away somewhat, and its eyes were large and full of permanent concern. It was fleabitten grey in colour, though when it danced sideways to avoid the boy’s control Marco spotted a blood shoulder marking disappearing underneath the fabric of its saddle pad.

Titan’s gaze appeared to fall on it too, because his ears suddenly went forwards and he let out a guttural whinny in its direction. The horse flinched and jerked its head towards them. Its eyes rolled, and the tremors that rippled through its body were enough to make its handler comment a weak, “oh no” as it practically bunnyhopped in the air with a surprised squeal. Titan let out a neigh and wheeled around Marco, his ears flying back and his hooves making an absolute din on the concrete slabs. “Cut it out, you’re not that scared!” Marco said, sounding a lot braver than he felt as he wrestled with Titan. The gelding snorted in disgust at the horse who had startled him, and that only made it more nervous, its ears flat back against its head and its body rising in a half rear. Titan let out a whinny of alarm and backed away, head up and eyes fixed on the scared horse before him with what looked like confusion in his eyes. “Titan, stand,” Marco ordered, and the authority in his voice not only stilled Titan, but the other horse too.

The boy looked from his horse to Marco and back again, his brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise any other horse would be around here,” he immediately began to say, giving the horse’s reins a small jerk to stop it from skittering off again. “S-she’s not a big fan of strangers, and-”

“N-no, it’s my fault, I’m sorry, Titan is just a bit of a loudmouth.” Marco flushed. “I’m sorry for scaring your horse.”

“O-oh, don’t worry! It’s okay! It was Brynja’s fault, she shouldn’t have gotten so scared!” the boy said, shooting his charge a pained look as she sidestepped nervously. He moved with her, but kept his eyes on Marco. It seemed as though he was used to the mare misbehaving. “W-who are you, I haven’t seen you around here before?”

Marco gulped. “I- er- I’m Marco, I’m just here to see Levi, I’m w-with Jean,” he tried to explain whilst keeping a tight grip on the all too curious Titan. “I really am sorry, Titan can be a bit of a handful sometimes…”

“N-no, it’s my fault!” The boy looked almost as worried as his horse did, despite his tall frame, and he looked down at Marco whilst wringing his hands together, reins and all. “I’m-”

“Hoover!” came a commanding bark from the opposite corner of the horseshoe. “What the hell is all this shitty racket about?”

Marco already remembered that voice. And, sure enough, there was Levi, looking nigh on murderous at the noise, and a sheepish looking Jean trotting beside him. Marco blanched, and took a step back out of habit. He couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face when Titan did exactly the same. “What is going on here?” Levi asked in that icy voice of his, casting his cold gaze around at both Marco and the boy with the surname Hoover, and Marco had never wanted to sink into the ground like he did at that moment. _Great first impression, Bodt,_ he thought. _Absolutely perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mee hee hee Levi is back mwahaha. Let the fun abound! 
> 
> If anyone's interested, Brynja's 'blood marking' is a rare marking often found in Arabian horses and looks like this: http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/37/4f/37/374f37bc381fdd29a5f9e3eca6d3afc3.jpg


	17. Learning How To Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys so chapter 17 is heeeere my lawd this fic is running away with me. So many chapters *dies* and so many BIG chapters *dies more* but I hope you guys are liking this enough to stick with it because believe me I'm having a blast writing this.  
> Okay, so here we see Levi being the badass horse whisperer that he is, Marco meeting more friends, Jean's house scaring him and Jean being the dorky dork that he is even during intimate moments. So there you go. I didn't like this chapter for ages, so I took my time editing it and I still keep finding issues, but I hope I have most of them sorted now! 
> 
> As usual, comments give me life so if you like this gimme some feedback, it's always appreciated SO BAD you have no idea :D 
> 
> My tumblr is here: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/
> 
> And just...yeah, enjoy! x

Levi was a terrifying excuse of a man, despite being a portion of the size of one. There was some sort of unspoken power he exuded over everything and everyone he came into contact with, and Marco had a feeling it was to do with the slightly hooded look he seemed stuck in. He was dressed impeccably, all in black and spotless, and Marco was reminded of some kind of old-fashioned detective in the slow yet purposeful way he moved. He had folded his arms now, and seemed like he was waiting for an explanation. Marco and the other boy stared at each other, wondering who was going to break first. A few seconds passed. “ _Well?_ ” Levi prompted.

And then, they both spoke at once.

“I’m sorry, it was me who-”

“Sorry sir, it was my horse-”

Levi raised a hand to silence them. Marco snapped his mouth shut. “Kirschtein, is this the horse you were telling me about?” he asked, inclining his head towards Titan.

Jean nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s that brat of a horse from the show grounds, isn’t it?” Marco felt something inside him curdle, and felt the burn of the other boy’s eyes on him now. Was it really that memorable? He guessed it probably was; not every horse pulled stunts like that at local show grounds. “Doesn’t surprise me that he’s in the middle of the trouble, _again.”_ His words were chilling.

“His name’s Titan,” Jean said without answering the question, “and we wondered if you could take a look at hi-”

“I don’t do charity cases, Kirschtein. You know that.” He glanced at the other boy now. “Hoover, how did she go?”

“N-not brilliantly,” the boy admitted, looking down at the ground. “She’s still bolting.”

“Tch.” Levi walked over to the mare, who flinched as he laid a hand on her, and Jean took the opportunity to rejoin Marco.

“What happened?” he asked. “Was Titan alright? He didn’t get hurt?”

Marco shook his head. “No, he just made a fool of himself.” He looked down at the leadrope in his hands. Was that it? Would Levi leave it at that, and not even bother to spare an ounce of his time for a once-over? He had seemed a little stand-offish at the show grounds, it was true, but Marco didn’t assume he was _quite_ so much in real life. Show environments did things to people, and they often behaved completely differently on their own soil. As it turned out, he thought as he watched the trainer run his hands along the mare’s frail looking cannon bones, Levi didn’t appear to change no matter where he was. “He scared that boy’s horse, I didn’t mean to-”

“Marco, it’s fine. Honestly. Brynja jumps at everything, Titan’s no special case. Isn’t that right Bertholdt?” he called out to the other boy.

He twitched at his name. “Y-yeah, that’s right,” he nodded, “she’s very nervous.”

“Like horse, like owner,” Jean commented dryly.

“When you are quite finished, Kirschtein,” Levi hissed, straightening up and giving Brynja a pat. The mare’s quakes slowed. “Get her back in her stall and give her a rub down,” he instructed Bertholdt, and the boy looked all too happy to be out of the awkward situation. Levi then focused back on Jean and Marco, his brow raised thinly. “Have you got anything else to say? If not, then get out of my sight. I have to see to the three year olds,” he said.

“Levi, don’t be like this,” Jean said, his brows drawing together. “We came all this way.”

“I didn’t ask you to. If you’d have told me, I would have said myself what a wasted trip it would be. But, here you are and here _he_ is.” Levi’s lip curled. “I don’t train people’s pets, Kirschtein, I train _performers._ Athletes. Horses that are worth more than the shit they stand in.”

“Titan is worth more than you think!” Jean snapped. Marco stared incredulously at him. Sticking up for Titan was usually his full-time occupation. Seeing Jean do it made warmth spread through his chest. He tucked his head into his chest with a slight smile.

Levi blinked. “Oh he is, is he?” he asked. “And you think that, do you?”

“I _know_ so.” Jean gave Titan a careless pat as he spoke. “You haven’t seen him, Levi. We’ve been lungeing him and he’s got the most amazing movement. I’ve ridden him too. He’s an athlete. He just needs help, that’s all.”

Levi sighed and walked towards them, though it looked more like a stalk to Marco. He baulked, but Jean put an arm on his shoulder to steady him. Levi looked Titan up and down and huffed. “I see nothing in it for me. The animal could just be rogue. Not my problem.”

“Levi, come on.” Jean frowned. “Can you just take a look? Just a look, that’s all I’m asking.”

Levi deliberated on it for a touch too long. It was long enough for Marco to suspect the worst, and think about what he was going to do with Titan for the rest of the weekend. But then, Levi spoke. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked.

“He’s got some trauma that makes him unpredictable to ride,” Jean said.

Marco bit his lip. He knew that was too vague, he could see it in the sceptical expression on Levi’s face, and even though he really didn’t want to talk about it and had never really talked about it properly until a few days ago, he blurted out, “We had an accident.” Levi’s eyes, for the first time, locked on him, and only him. Marco swallowed painfully. “W-we had a riding accident, three years ago. Titan and I. A d-dog attacked us, and…”

“Marco,” Jean interjected, “you don’t have to tell him. It’s alright.”

“Yes I do.” Marco sighed, and lowered his gaze. “He needs to know.” He focused back on Levi, and let out a breath. “He’s scared of dogs because of that. And he gets very aggressive around them, not… not flighty like you’d expect.”

For an instant, Marco swore he saw a glint of interest in Levi’s cold eyes. Then the smaller man eyed Titan again. “You’re a persistent person, Bodt,” he said thoughtfully.  He waited a few more moments, clearly thinking through things, before he let out an enormous, inconvenienced huff. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. You’ll let him off in the indoor arena and I’ll watch him move. Then I’ll see if I can do anything.”

“Thank you,” Jean said, the happiness clear in his tone. “Thank you so much, seriously, you have no idea how much it means to m-”

“No one likes a kiss-ass, Kirschtein. Get him in the arena, and I’ll make up my mind. And take off his rug and boots.” With that, Levi turned on his heel and vanished into the gap Bertholdt had used without another word. Marco stared after him blankly, scarcely believing his luck. He only turned back when he heard Jean chuckle.

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Levi can’t resist _any_ horse that’s been in an accident.” Jean was unclipping Titan’s rug and slipping it off his back. Marco was thankful he’d had the chance to groom him, for Titan was shining with as much good health as any of the other horses surrounding them. He looked like he belonged, even if Marco didn’t.

“What do you mean?” Marco asked, crouching with a grimace to work at Titan’s travelling boots.

“His wife was in an accident,” Jean answered.

Marco blinked. “He has a wife?”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” Jean laughed. “She’s cool, much nicer than Levi. Her name’s Petra, they’ve been married… God, six years now? She had a bad fall and injured her spinal cord. Left her paralysed from the waist down.” He frowned slightly as he shifted Titan’s rug into the trailer. “Poor woman. Certainly didn’t deserve it, she’s the sweetest thing in the world.”

Marco straightened up and frowned. As far as accidents went, he had come out of his pretty lucky. Sure, he had a leg that was always going to hurt to a degree, and he’d had a chronic fear of horses for quite some time, but there had been nothing close to that. It made him feel bad for thinking he was in such a bad situation when there was Levi’s lovely, happy wife confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. “It sounds… awful,” he said honestly.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mention it to Levi, he’s pretty twitchy about it.” Jean shut up the trailer and turned back to Marco, a smile on his face. “C’mon, let’s get him in the arena. The sooner Levi sees him, the sooner we can get settled in.”

* * *

Marco was stood gripping the rails of the very expensive indoor arena a few minutes later, praying to all the gods he could think of that Titan wouldn’t break anything. So far, the gelding just seemed to be letting off steam like he would in the paddock; he was galloping at breakneck speeds from one end of the arena to the other, head arched and straining like he was on a race track. “He’s certainly fast,” Levi remarked beside Marco, “though it is in every damn direction.”

Marco flushed with embarrassment, but Jean replied, “It’s a good job he’s not a racehorse, or else that’d be a _real_ problem.”

“Are you sassing me, Kirschtein?” Levi asked coolly. Jean promptly shut up. “Thought not.” Levi leaned a little further forward on the fence, brows creased together. He didn’t let his gaze drift from Titan, Marco noticed, and the only sign to show that he was even conscious of anyone else being there was the occasional twitch of his fingers. “He’s got good poise. That’d come with good bloodline. Carries his weight a little too heavily. Stargazer when he gallops freely. Your horse doesn’t know what he is, a top class eventer or a wild mustang, Bodt.”

Marco wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “E-er…right,” was all he could think of to say.

“Seems to be calming down. You said he’s got a thing about dogs?”

“Y-yeah.” Marco glanced at him. He felt ridiculous being so nervous of a man smaller than him, but he knew it was for his own good to just ignore it. “He’s not really in contact with them at home.”

“Well, I need to put him in contact with one so I know what I’m dealing with.” Levi’s brow quirked. “That alright with you?”

Marco had a feeling that there was only one answer to Levi’s question. He nodded wordlessly, even though he really didn’t want to be near a dog either. He knew it was for Titan’s own good. Jean stepped an inch closer to him, and their hands knotted together wordlessly.

Levi nodded too, and let out a piercing whistle through his teeth, a whistle that seemed to ricochet through the entire arena. It even made Titan stop mid-gallop, his ears flicking around at the noise and its reverberations. And then, he whistled back. Jean sniggered when Levi’s eyes widened a fraction. “What the shit-?”

“He responds to whistling,” Jean explained, still sniggering. “Long story.”

Levi huffed and turned back to the entrance to the arena, lip curling. He whistled again. “Where is that little shit- _ORPHEUS_!” he shouted.

The animal that answered his call was definitely not what Marco had imagined. With a name like ‘Orpheus’ and an owner like Levi he had expected a big, hulking brute of a dog with the attitude of a wolf. What he didn’t expect to see was a rather small, wiry black Cairn terrier appear around the corner, its angular ears primed up with the sound of its name bouncing around inside them. He had to fight the urge to laugh. At least he wasn’t afraid of it, he thought to himself. ‘Orpheus’ (he had to try not to laugh again at the thought) had a permanently angry expression on its little face, and when Levi fixed it with a glare it began to half run, half waddle towards them, making angry little grumbling noises as it came. Marco couldn’t help it. He let a chuckle slip. “Do you think my dog’s amusing, Bodt?” Levi asked coldly.

“N-no sir,” Marco said around his barely suppressed laughter, “n-not at all.” He glanced at Jean, and saw that his face was pink with the effort of trying to hold in his own laughter. Clearly, it wasn’t just him.

“Good.” Levi scooped the little dog up as it neared him and it wriggled about in his arms, shooting Marco a look of utter malice that nearly made him burst. “Orpheus, _look_ ,” he instructed, pointing to Titan. The gelding really had stopped now, and was watching the gathering of people curiously. Marco wasn’t sure Titan would even consider Orpheus a dog, seeing as he was so small, but he guessed only time would tell. Sure enough, the dog had heeded his master’s command, and was staring at Titan intently, his entire body primed. “Speak,” Levi said. And with that, the little dog began to bark in Titan’s direction, the flash of white teeth clear in every bark. It was more of a yap, if Marco was honest with himself, but watching Titan he could see the gelding was shivering.

“Th-that’s enough,” he mumbled.

Levi ignored him. Orpheus continued to bark. Titan threw up his head and let a concerned whicker out of his mouth. “Please, don’t do it anymore,” Marco said in a weak voice, “or else Titan might-”

Too late.

The stallion rocked onto his hind legs and let out a scream, his forelegs swiping the air unmercifully as he landed. His eyes were full of fear and rage, and when he plunged forwards from his rear and made a beeline for them, Marco was the first to try to scramble clear. Jean seized Marco around the waist, his grip a comforting relief. “Don’t worry,” he said as Titan neared them, “the divide is too high to jump.”

Sure enough, Titan pulled up at the last minute snorting in frustration, rearing up again with an annoyed neigh. Orpheus squirmed in Levi’s arms and growled at the giant horse threatening him, not an ounce of fear in his tiny body. Levi looked as though he was about to growl too, his eyes fixed on the plunging, rearing, screaming mass of horse behind the divide. Without looking back he remarked, “Stop holding him like a protective boyfriend Kirschtein, you know full well the horse can’t do damage.”

Jean let go of Marco awkwardly, decidedly pinker than normal, and Marco cleared his throat. “I-er-told you he was bad,” he said, trying to ignore the very obvious remark of Levi’s on their relationship.

Levi turned to him. “Your horse has an acute phobia triggered by this accident of yours. His reaction is surprising, but not uncommon. A lot of horses have a fight reflex as well as a flight one, but that’s usually reserved for wild or at least feral animals.”

“O-oh,” was all Marco said. He wasn’t sure what else to say. “C-can you help him?”

Levi let out a barely audible sigh. “Perhaps,” he said, “with time. It’ll be a shitload of work, but it could be helped. Then again, it might not. It’s all down to him.” He angled his head back across the divide where Titan was churning up the arena sand with one powerful foreleg.

“But you’ll do it?” Jean pressed. “You’ll take him on?”

Levi, again, looked like he was mulling it over. Then, he focused on Marco. “I need his papers, history, bloodline, anything. I need to know what happened in the accident in detail, and I need to know that you will consent to help me, if needed. Then, and only then, will I see what I can do.”

Jean smiled brightly at Levi, so bright that Marco was sure it had to be false. “Levi, I could kiss you,” he said.

“Come the fuck near me and I’ll kick your teeth in.”

Marco smiled too. “Thank you so much, really. It means a lot.”

Levi made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat and put Orpheus down. The terrier snuffled over to Jean with its tail wagging. “I’m seeing to the three year olds now. Don’t bother me again. Get the horse into a stall, the one next to Sawney is free.” He gave a final glance over to Titan, muttered something about ‘going soft’ and left, Orpheus leaving Jean’s side to bound to his master.

Once they were out of earshot, Marco shared a look with Jean. “I don’t know whether I’m happy or intimidated,” he said.

Jean grinned. “That’s Levi for you. He’s rough around the edges, but his heart’s in the right place- you just have to dig deep to find it. Let’s go get Titan stabled, then I can show you around.” He took Marco’s hand like a timid schoolboy and opened the gate to the arena, whistling for Titan, and Marco nestled close to him with a smile. Even if he didn’t fit in, he had Jean, and that was good enough for him.

* * *

 

“That’s Stohess, she’s Sina’s half-sister. Oh and there, that’s Dot. Oh, and over here, this is Rose.”

Marco smiled at Jean’s enthusiasm, and squeezed the hand he’d barely let go of since they’d settled Titan in. Titan had calmed pretty quickly in the arena, and hadn’t tried to fight Marco as he led him down the impressive array of stalls. Sawney, Titan’s neighbour, had practically launched himself out of his stable to snap at Titan’s rump as they passed, earning an enraged squeal from Titan, but little else. “Bloody horse is a menace,” Jean had muttered, giving the offender’s stable door a kick. The vicious head had retreated back inside. “He’s Levi’s horse,” Jean had explained, “from France. Only Levi can handle him, you should see the thing’s scars. And he’s a fucking stallion, Levi should get him gelded.” Through the barred divide, Marco could see slivers of the furious black stallion watching them, and he had to admit that Sawney unnerved him.

Still, the other horses seemed far more pleasant. Rose was a dainty looking bay with an endearing face, and when Marco offered his hand to her she nuzzled him affectionately. Marco chuckled. “She’s cute.”

“She’s Petra’s horse. We- help out a lot.” Jean’s smile was a sombre one.

“Oh.” He wanted to ask if this was the horse she had fallen from, or whether it was another one, but he had the feeling that it was the wrong thing to say entirely. It didn’t just affect Petra and Levi, he thought as he saw the way Jean fussed over the pretty mare.  Marco made a bid to change the subject. “S-so are all these horses owned by other people?”

“Most of them,” Jean answered, “Though we own about six that we use for lessons sometimes- Armin rides them.”

“What are they like?”

“Useless wastes of spaces, that’s what they’re like,” came a new voice. Marco froze up.

“Don’t be so bitter, Reiner,” Jean replied without turning around. “Just because they don’t like you.”

Marco turned to see a boy walking towards them with a bulk of a rugby player on his shoulders and short blonde hair. He was leading a horse so dark bay it was almost black, save for a wide blaze down its face, and its ears pricked forwards in interest at the new faces. “They like me!” the blonde defended. “They just like to try it on every single lesson.”

Jean grunted, and gestured to Marco. “Marco, Reiner, Reiner, Marco. Levi’s working on Marco’s horse.”

“Really?” Reiner’s brows rose up. “No kidding, did he get his Ready Brek this morning? He doesn’t just take on horses that quick.” He gave Marco a smile and thrust his hand out for him to shake. “Good to meet you.”

Reiner’s grip was solid, but strangely gentle. “T-thanks,” Marco said, trying out his own smile for size. It was a touch too small, but Reiner didn’t seem to notice. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I have to say, I salute you,” Reiner grinned. “You got Levi to agree on something within a day, and you’ve got Jean in a good mood. You must be some sort of saint.”

“Reiner!” Jean snapped. “Fuck off!”

Reiner just chuckled. “Aww I’m sorry Jean, I didn’t know it was that easy to get you annoyed.” He paused, feigning thoughtfulness. “Oh wait, yes I did.”

“I told you, _fuck off._ ”

Marco looked between them, politely curious. Jean hadn’t been happy before? Even on the first day he was at the stables Jean had been friendly and grinning. The thought of a grouchy, grumpy Jean wasn’t exactly the first thing on Marco’s mind when he thought of him. He was selfish enough to think that Jean might have been happy because he was in his company, even in the early days. But now he could see Jean’s fists curling and his red face clashing starkly with his ashy hair.

“You should hear him talk about you, Marco,” Reiner said, glee dancing in his tone, “Marco this, Marco that, Marco, Marco, Marco. S’all we ever hear.”

“Would you just shut the fuck up?” Jean growled, though compared to Reiner’s booming laugh moments later he may as well have whimpered.

“Aw, look at him getting defensive…”

“I’m not getting defensive!”

“Oh sure, like _that’s_ convinced me.”

“Reiner, I swear to god-”

Marco zoned out as he watched them bicker, Jean’s sharpness and withering glares against Reiner’s leering brute strength. Were they friends? He found himself wondering. Did Jean get wound up a lot? He seemed like an easy target. _Still_ , he thought with a smile, _he brings it on himself._

He was knocked back into the conversation when Reiner said, “I have to admit you make a pretty cute couple, though. Adorable.”

Marco’s smile cracked and shattered off his face, his stomach suddenly feeling like a rock had been dropped into it. He gulped and turned away to fuss over Rose, but he wasn’t really seeing the mare. _Oh god, oh god, someone at the Academy knew. Oh god, what would that mean? Reiner was a big guy, a really big guy, and if he thought it was disgusting or something what would happen then? They would be as good as done for._

“Wha- ** _Reiner!_** ” Jean hissed. “I told you to keep quiet about it.”

Marco thawed a fraction. Reiner… had known already? He hadn’t just figured them out?

The behemoth shrugged. “I call ‘em as I see ‘em, Jean. You two are cute together, Marco’s just as sweet as you said he was, so there you go. Your agony uncle is very proud.”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Agony…uncle?” Marco blinked, looking from one boy to the other.

“Yup, don’t worry, Jean’s told me everything about you two.”

“Really?” Marco’s eyes zeroed in on Jean, who was glowing like a beacon. He mouthed ‘not everything’ and glared at Reiner.

Reiner just grinned. “Yup. But seriously, you got the grump to smile, so thanks. Makes him more bearable for the rest of us.”

Jean muttered something about ‘not grumpy’ and ‘screw you’ and gave Marco’s sleeve a childish tug. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Reiner smirked. “Yeah, you need something in your mouth alright.”

Marco blushed as brightly as Jean at that.

Jean gave Reiner a shove towards the horse he led, which took a step back with a dignified snort. **“REINER.”**

Reiner laughed again. “Oh, Jean. You’re so precious. Where’s Bertl anyway? I owe him lunch.”

“I don’t know!” Jean replied agitatedly. “God, you think I have a beeper attached to the guy? He was around earlier, he was putting that crazy horse of his away.”

“I was just asking! Besides, Brynja’s not _that_ crazy.”

“You have to say that, you’re his boyfriend. But you _know_ that’s not true.”

Reiner smiled innocently. “I’m not saying a word. Anyway, I better find him.” He smiled in a more genuine way at Marco as he passed. “It was nice to finally meet you, Marco. Keep Jean out of trouble.” With a final grin at Jean, Reiner clicked his tongue and led the horse away, its tail flicking against its hind legs as it moved.

Marco watched him for a moment until he felt Jean tug on his sleeve again. He glanced back at him to see a very red, very flustered Jean. “God, I’m sorry about that asshole,” Jean said, looking everywhere but at Marco for the moment. Marco hadn’t ever seen Jean so embarrassed. “I swear he lives to shame me.”

Marco laughed. “It’s fine. I was just worried he’d be- I don’t know, he’s a big guy. If he didn’t understand the whole idea of being…” he paused. “But you said he’s with Bertholdt, so…”

To his surprise, Jean burst out laughing. It was a barking, harsh sound, and Marco found himself blushing. “What?! What is so funny?” he demanded.

“Reiner is the gayest gay to ever gay, Marco. That’s what’s so funny.” He sniggered. “Anyway, I meant it, I’m starving. I need food.”

Marco’s growling stomach seemed to agree with him on that one, and allowed Jean to tow him along the long line of stalls and towards a huge house in the background of neighs and whinnies. There was a small track moving away from the stables to the house, and Marco saw that the road from the car park behind them met the one they were walking along.

Marco almost stopped dead when he caught sight of the house properly. The stables had shrouded it from sight, but it looked more like a mansion than a house on further inspection. Marco could imagine lords and ladies of old hosting parties there, with its imposing square windows and faux-Gothic architecture. The only suggestion that it was more modern than it let on was that it was almost glimmering white, no speck of dirt to be seen on the entirety of the walls. He gulped. “You live here?” he asked, his mouth dry as his eyes roved over the gigantic house, whitewashed and pristine.

“Y-yeah.” Jean was averting his eyes, slightly embarrassed. “Do you see any other houses around here?”

“No, but… God Jean, my house would fit into a single floor of yours!” Marco gasped. Maybe his mother’s jokes about Jean having butlers and valets weren’t far from the truth. He had the familiar feeling of being very small and insignificant in the wake of such an illustrious stables and illustrious house. He’d known Jean was rich, he had to be, but the sheer amount of money he had seemed to be thrown out boastfully at anyone who visited. It was crippling, in a way. And yet Jean was stood there looking ashamed of it. He looked small. The thought crossed Marco’s mind that maybe he didn’t like showing off how much money he had; he certainly hadn’t mentioned it often, and when he did it was only to pay for something whilst they were out. “W-where’s your kitchen?” Marco asked, trying to tone down the amount of awe in his voice as they reached the door.

“I’ll show you,” he mumbled, still red-faced from Reiner’s taunts and his own consciousness.

The inside of the house was as white as its outside, and Marco had to blink to adjust at the sheer brightness of everything. Decoration was minimal, and the stairs leading up to further floors was bronzed with the impression of an age that wasn’t there. Marco frowned. However strange it sounded, there was always a _smell_ of home in every house, an essence of the people that lived there. Armin’s house smelt of old books and baked bread, Sasha’s warmth and apple spices from the cider press. There was no comforting smell of home hanging in the air of Jean’s house, nothing to suggest an air of comfort at all in fact. There was nothing homely about this place. All it felt was cold.

“Dad’s not here this weekend,” Jean said, asking Marco’s unvoiced question, “so we have the house to ourselves. Aside from Lettie.”

“Lettie?” Marco questioned. “Is she your Dad’s girlfriend?”

Jean squirmed with discomfort. “N-no, she’s our housekeeper.”

Marco’s initial reaction was ‘ _YOU HAVE A HOUSEKEEPER?’_ but the look on Jean’s face suggested it wouldn’t have gone down well if he’d have mentioned that. So instead he nodded. “Okay, well lead on. I’m starving too.”

Jean seemed a little surprised at the lack of a comment, but grateful, and there was a little more of a spring to his step when they reached the overlarge kitchen. Marco whistled. “This place is huge,” he murmured, paying little attention to Jean as he rummaged through first the cupboards and then the king-size fridge. “How long have you lived here?”

“A couple of years, not that long. Dad travelled a lot in his last job, but once he decided to set up this stables, he figured he could only settle for the best. Typical Dad behaviour. Is a sandwich alright?” he called out from inside the fridge.

Marco chucked. “That’s fine.” He continued to look around, letting his eyes take everything in. He wanted to be honest, but was still worried about whether or not he’d make Jean shrink away. He chose the honesty nonetheless. “Mum was right- you must really feel cramped in my house. Our kitchen is tiny compared to this.”

“At least it’s a home.” Jean appeared out of the fridge moments later with a handful of ingredients, dumping them on the island in the middle of the room. “You have memories there. This place doesn’t exactly hold much in the way of that. There aren’t any embarrassing little kid pictures on the wall of me or anything. There are a few graduation photos of my brothers and sister but that’s about it.” His face twisted into a frown, and Marco found himself copying him.

“Well… at least you’re not subjected to the embarrassing kiddie pictures like I am. Mum had a picture of a three year old me with a potty on my head in the living room until I was sixteen and I demanded she take it down.”

Jean winced. “Tough break.”

“Yeah.” Marco smiled. “But I get what you mean. You can make our house yours whenever you want.” He paused. He suddenly realised how strange and corny and clingy that sounded, and tried to back-track. “I-I mean you can just… hang out whenever, e-even after the summer, if that’s what you want!” he spluttered.

Jean sniggered. “If I ever come back from boarding school, yeah.”

Marco frowned. He’d forgotten about that, he realised with a stab. “Does it… ever get lonely?” he found himself asking. “At boarding school, I mean.”

Jean shrugged, retrieving bread from the side and slicing into it with his back turned to Marco. “Sometimes,” he muttered. “But the guys there are alright. They’re not _friends,_ but I can deal with them, even if they are stuck up their own asses.” Marco saw him pause, the knife hovering over the bread for a moment too long, before he added in a more subdued tone, “I don’t wanna go back, though. Not this time.”

“Wh-why?” Marco’s frown increased as he took a step towards him. Jean still had his back to him, and he had a feeling it was because he was getting a little emotional and he didn’t want Marco to see him in his moment of weakness. But he didn’t care. He moved over to him, bit by bit, and waited for his reply.

His hands were skimming Jean’s waist when he got one. “Because I don’t want to miss…” Jean growled at himself and shook his head, continuing to slice into the bread in a more vicious manner.

“Jean…” Marco wrapped his arms around the other boy’s slight frame, stepping into the space between them and resting his chin on Jean’s shoulder, “I’ll miss you too. But we… we can still see each other. So don’t worry about it just yet. I’m the worrier, remember? And the one who apologises, and gets awkward, and trips over his own feet…”

“Shurrup.” Jean angled his head back just enough to plant a small kiss on Marco’s lips, before returning to the bread. “I just… it’s gonna be hard.”

“Yeah, it probably will be,” Marco admitted, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

The silence he got in reply was enough to send his stomach into tumbleturns. He hadn’t wanted to think about Jean leaving. He was such a part of the stables now that the very idea of him not being there every morning was almost jarring. Marco had known it was going to happen eventually, that Jean would have to go back to boarding school and he would have to carry on helping his mother out at the stables, but it was going faster than he’d ever wanted it to. He found himself wishing the days would go slower, that they might even stop completely, so he could spend as much time with Jean as possible. He sighed. How pathetic.

Jean made their sandwiches half-heartedly and took Marco up to his room, adding with a blush that he could stay with him instead of in one of the many guest rooms the house had. “It’s like Dad’s trying to pretend that we have enough friends to warrant so many rooms,” he muttered to himself as Marco stood slightly awkwardly in the middle of his room. Jean’s room seemed to be the only one with proper life in it, with posters spread across the pale walls of rock bands, album artwork and the occasional showjumper. Jean’s desk had a pinboard directly above it that was filled with faded photographs of Jean and his friends, Jean competing on horse after horse, and on closer inspection there was one with a slightly younger Jean with his arms around a very gawky looking brown yearling. “Who’s this?” Marco asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

“Who?” Jean appeared behind him to take a closer look. “Oh, that’s Buchwald.”

“Buchwald?” Marco tried not to grin. “What sort of name is ‘Buchwald’ for a horse?”

“A very good name!” Jean snorted. “He’s one of the training horses. He… wasn’t good enough for competitions.” He frowned a little.

Glancing back at the photo, Marco could see that the leggy young horse had meant a lot to Jean once. Was Jean’s father that obsessed with winning that he would ignore the bond the two clearly had? Marco looked away- and found his gaze landing on a pile of bright, shiny-looking prospectuses. “What are these?” he asked, picking one up out of curiosity.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to snoop?” Jean commented wryly, but made no move to snatch it away. “They’re universities or colleges that specialise in Equine studies. My Dad’s been heaping them on me all summer, wants me to apply to some of them. I have to take entrance exams for them all though, so I’m not holding out hope.”

“Entrance exams?” Marco opened his chosen prospectus up and started to flick through it, his brows furrowing. “When are they?”

“In a couple of weeks.”

“Is that what you’re studying for?” Marco glanced up from the prospectus to frown at Jean. Something didn’t add up. “You said you were behind on schoolwork, that’s why you needed to study.”

Jean bit his lip. _There it was again, the lying_ , Marco thought bitterly to himself. _Could Jean just not help it? Or was there another good reason for this lie?_ Jean had said he was revising for an exam retake. The endless hours Marco had spent toiling over _King Lear_ and the Russian Revolution with him, was that all for nothing? “I…” Jean began.

“Are you not capable of ever telling the truth?” Marco said, putting the prospectus back down on the desk. His temper was flaring now. Jean may have been a chronic liar, but the way he looked at Marco sometimes showed such a blunt, brazen honesty that the two didn’t connect. He wanted Jean to tell him everything, and not feel like he had to lie to make things better. “I didn’t think you were like that, Jean,” he added with a bite of disappointment.

“I’m not!” Jean’s eyes were wide, fearful as Marco turned away. “It’s not like that, I thought if you knew it was because I was trying to get into a place like that then you’d never like me!”

Marco turned back, his nose wrinkled in confusion. “What, why would I not like you?” he asked, slumping onto Jean’s bed despite himself.

“Because I already looked like a stuck up prick to you in the beginning. I didn’t want to make it any worse.” Jean huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to feel a bit… normal for a change. And I know, ‘boo fucking hoo poor little rich boy gets everything he wants’, but I can’t explain it. However ungrateful it sounds, I don’t _want_ to be looked at and praised for being rich, because I… I don’t want to be. I don’t _care_.”

Marco’s eyes softened. “Y-you never looked like a stuck up prick to me, Jean,” he said, patting the space beside him on the bed. “Not ever.”

“Really?” Jean didn’t look convinced as he crossed the room to perch on the side of the bed, casting concerned glances at Marco every now and again.

Marco nodded, shuffling a little further away to make more space. “Really.”

“Huh. Guess there’s a first for everything.” Jean took his cue and sat on the bed properly, back against the headrest.

Marco rolled his eyes and wriggled down the length of the bed to get more comfortable. In anyone else’s presence he’d feel rude- but this was Jean. “Stop putting yourself down,” he said, “you know I hate it.” ‘Hate’ was a strong word, but lately it felt like he was saying the same old thing over and over with little reaction.

 Jean glanced down at him, and there was a soft look to his eyes. “Old habits die hard, I guess,” he said, his voice little louder than a breath.

Marco felt like saying Marlow should have known better than to let him feel like that, but bit it back. He didn’t need to bring him up. “Any more secrets I need to know about?” he asked instead, a teasing edge to the question.

Jean half-smiled. “Well, sometimes I forget to eat breakfast in the mornings,” he said, his eyes widening comically as he shifted to lie next to Marco instead. 

Marco let out a fake gasp. “Oh, how _dare_ you, Jean Kirschtein!” He rolled closer to him to plant a small kiss against the curve of his jaw. “Anything else?” he asked, leaving a trail of small kisses down Jean’s neck as he went.

“I pick my teeth at the table when no one’s looking,” Jean said, the curve of his smile clear in Marco’s line of vision when he tilted his neck, baring his neck to his attention.

“What will I do with you?” He let the chaste pecks become a little slower, more laboured.

Jean’s breath skipped. “I- I cheated on my last essay,” he squeaked.

“Mmm, what a rebel.” Marco reached the curve of Jean’s throat and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

“I kissed Reiner when I was fifteen.” Jean’s hands were gliding through Marco’s hair, snagging on a few knots every now and again.

“Scandalous,” Marco sighed against his skin.

“I just want to stay with you.”

Marco stopped. He looked up at Jean. He was flushed, embarrassed beyond belief, but the way he was looking at Marco showed just how serious he was. Marco abandoned his neck for the moment and touched his forehead against Jean’s. “Y-you do?” he asked.

Jean wet his lips and nodded, averting his eyes in his shyness. “More than anything. I- I mean, I know I can’t, but when I can and if it’d be okay and if your Mum was okay with it cus fuck I don’t wanna get her mad-”

Marco didn’t let him finish. Instead, he bridged the gap between them with his lips, too happy to do much else. Jean didn’t protest or fight to get his ramble out- he just kissed Marco back. But then he started to push his lips against Marco with more insistence, an intensity to his movements that Marco hadn’t felt before. Jean was pushing himself closer, his hands running, clutching, grasping everywhere. It would have been stifling if Marco wasn’t doing exactly the same thing; his hands were skimming every part of Jean he could reach, his touch gentle and slow, but still searching. Jean’s tongue traced the bottom of Marco’s lip, hot and gasping, before he drew it into his mouth with small sucking motions. It took Marco a moment to realise that the small moan that came between them was coming from him. He almost clamped his lips shut at the sound, his cheeks flaring with embarrassment, but it felt too good to deny. Jean smirked. “You like that?” he mumbled, washing his tongue against Marco’s lip again before letting it delve into the deeper corners of Marco’s mouth. For a moment, Marco felt like he was trying to fend Jean off, but the feel of their tongues against each other made him shudder. The closest Jean had ever gotten to kissing him like this was when he had shown him his bruises, but this was different. This was driven by something other than fear and reassurance, something… deeper, almost.

It was then that Marco felt Jean grind against him, their bodies impossibly close together, and he froze up. This was usually the moment when he would pull away, get clear, apologise for being a blushing little virgin. But for some reason, this time was different. Marco let out a pent-up sigh and brought a hand up to tug through Jean’s hair, keeping them close. _No,_ he thought. _Not this time._

If Jean was surprised, he didn’t show it. Their kisses were open-mouthed and sloppy, their breaths melting against one another as they sometimes missed mouths completely, instead latching onto ears, jawlines and cheeks. They probably looked like messes, Marco thought, but he didn’t care. And neither did Jean. He nearly lost his breath when Jean rolled on top of him, trapping him against the mattress, and tried to ignore the way he winced. Marco frowned and let the hand in Jean’s hair slip down to cradle his face as he leant in for another, less violent kiss, whilst his other hand rested idly against his hip bone, tracing tiny circles through the fabric. “Y-your bruises…” he finally managed to blurt out.

“Fuck my bruises,” Jean growled into his mouth, and Marco let out a broken sigh. When he rubbed himself against Marco again, Marco realised with a jolt that it wasn’t just his _chest_ that was feeling rather tight. Jean seemed to have noticed too, because he pulled away to smile wickedly down at him. “What’s this?” he asked, rocking his hips against Marco’s half-hard dick. Marco bit his lip and tried to avoid Jean’s gleeful expression. “Oh, is someone a little _flustered_?”  

“S-shut up.” Marco couldn’t help the way his hips arched upwards to meet Jean’s when he gave another drawn-out rock against him.

Jean chuckled breathlessly, sending another rush of blood straight down south (Marco bit on his lip so hard it almost drew blood) and got a gentle whack from Marco. “You want me to carry on?” he asked, poking his tongue between his teeth as he ground down against him. Marco glanced back on him, smirking yet soft-eyed in a way he’d never been, and went to say _yes, oh God yes, please, please, please, I need it,_ but then something spiked in his chest. If he said yes, what would happen? Jean would… see him. All of him. The very thought made Marco’s blush quadruple, and the spike in his chest twist sickeningly. Jean’s smirk was gone, but the softness was still there. “Marco, if you want me to stop, I will,” he said, the picture of seriousness despite the fact his fingers were crawling dangerously close to his belt buckle.

For a moment, Marco lost any ability to speak. He just stared dumbly at Jean, as the hands slowly but surely undid his belt and pushed it aside. He gulped. He couldn’t even _try_ to deny how turned on he was, seeing as how visible his hard-on was. He tucked his head against his chest and had the urge to hide his face with how embarrassed he suddenly was. His eyes snapped open when he felt Jean brush his hand against that _particular_ area, and saw his hips buck of their own accord. A whine escaped his throat and he blushed even more. “Can you… can you just…” he huffed as he realised he couldn’t say anything without his throat closing up and refusing to yield words.

Jean understood more than Marco gave him credit for. He moved back to lying on top of Marco, a smug expression on his face. Marco flushed. “D-don’t look at me like that, I know I’m stupid, you don’t need to give me the _look_ too!” he said. Jean didn’t drop the look. He just wriggled his hips against Marco’s, the grin only growing wider as heat shot into Marco’s cheeks. Jean was just as hard as he was. He wasn’t sure that made things any better. “B-bastard,” he muttered, covering Jean’s laughter with his mouth as he rocked his hips against Jean’s, drawing a small noise from him as he did so. He felt a stab of pride, but then he felt Jean’s hand slide between their rutting bodies. “J-Jean,” he murmured warningly, his head tucking into the curve of Jean’s neck as his cock twitched at the proximity.

“Is this okay?” Jean asked, his hand palming him through his jeans in time to his steady rocking. Marco nodded wordlessly. Even the smallest amount of pressure was stoking the heat building in the pit of his stomach, and he arched against him with a slightly louder moan. “You want more?” Jean’s voice purred against his neck.

“Y-yeah… p-please, yeah oh God.” _Not the smoothest of replies, Marco Bodt, but I suppose it’ll have to do,_ he thought.

It didn’t deter Jean. Marco had the feeling that he’d been waiting for it. His jeans were unzipped and his boxers pulled down before he could even blink. He wanted to make some sort of witty comment about Jean being eager, but it died halfway out of his mouth when he saw Jean glance between them. “Well,” he said after a beat, “that’s definitely a dick right there.”

Moment ruined. Marco’s face turned the colour of a fire engine. He clapped a hand to his face. “Oh my God, shut up.” At least he wasn’t as anxious anymore.

“Fuck, I think you’re bigger than me too,” Jean muttered as he tilted his head to one side, not helping things in the slightest.

“ _JEAN.”_

“I’m just saying dude, no wonder you work with horses! Jesus Christ, you’re hung like one.”

Marco smacked him. “Shut up! Stop _looking at it!_ ”

“What else am I meant to do?!” Jean quirked an eyebrow, a playfulness dancing behind them. “Would you rather I ignored it?”

“N-no!”

“I think you might.”

“Don’t you dare!” Marco’s body reacted of its own accord and jerked desperately.

Jean’s playfulness vanished. “Maybe I’ll tease you another time,” he said, his voice laden with something other than taunting. The spike of nerves in Marco’s chest and the heat in his stomach seemed to culminate into one sharp gasp as Jean’s hand reached around him and stroked up in one torturously slow movement, his thumb skimming over the head far too slow for comfort. Marco squirmed, a small moan wrangling out of him. “F-fuck…” he hissed.  The word felt cold and alien in his mouth.

Jean kept his movements slow, steady, teasing as he kissed along every inch of Marco’s skin he could find; his free hand disappeared under Marco’s shirt and the proximity was close enough to make Marco arch up and attempt to snatch a kiss from him, his breath coming short all of a sudden. Marco realised he needed more. He grabbed at Jean, pulled him close so that their bodies were trapped together in a tangle of limbs and heat, and started planting his own kisses. “Oh G-God,” he gasped, sweeping his tongue against the salt of Jean’s neck, “Please… please…”

He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for exactly, but Jean did. The strokes to him got faster, and Marco held on tighter, one hand tugging at the longer sections of Jean’s hair as he mouthed curses against Jean’s neck. He could feel something building up in the pit of his stomach, his shaking body only adding to the pressure that seemed to be winding up and up and up until it became almost painful. “J-Jean…” he warned, breathing the name into the pores of Jean’s skin.

“I know,” he replied.

Marco gave one last thrust into Jean’s hand, and that was when he felt himself fall apart. In the blink of an eye, the pressure that had been building was released, and it felt like every muscle in Marco’s body had tightened up, his broken noise that was half moan half cry filling the air between them as he shuddered and quaked beneath Jean. He should have been embarrassed beyond belief- that was what his mind was trying to tell him, at least- but he wasn’t even capable of thinking at that moment. All he did was hold onto Jean, his gasps becoming less sharp. He hadn’t come like that before; now he felt tired from the overwhelming feelings that had been surging through his pounding veins seconds before, and he slowly relaxed. When he felt ready to open his eyes, he saw that Jean was smiling down at him. Not mockingly, not proudly, just smiling. And he found himself smiling back.

“Y-you’re good at that,” he managed to get out, and cringed at Jean’s laughter.

“I’ve had practice,” was Jean’s retort as he leant down to kiss Marco softly.

“S-sorry, I didn’t, er, know what to say after that,” Marco mumbled through their kisses. The awkwardness rose back into his psyche and made him shrink away once again, his eyes becoming more wary and concerned.

“Mm, I didn’t shag your brains out did I?” Jean asked with a smirk. “Cus that wasn’t even shagging, so you’ll have a problem when we do.”

“Fuck off.”

Jean sniggered. “You sound different when you swear,” he noted, threading a hand through the hair surrounding Marco’s face. “Like you shouldn’t be saying it because you’re too innocent.”

Marco chuckled. “Pretty sure what we just did wasn’t innocent, Jean.”

“Fair point.” Jean rolled off of him to grab some tissues from his bedside table. After a rather sloppy attempt at cleaning themselves up (seeing as Marco couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing Jean’s neck for long enough to let him, and Jean liked being kissed too much to be that bothered about it), Jean tugged his shirt off and let it lie where it fell on the floor. Marco knew the bruises would take a while to go, and they were a lot better than they had been, but they still stood out against Jean’s otherwise pale skin, markers and claims on him that weren’t Marco’s. Marco frowned and scooted closer, running his hands along the bruises as gently as he could. “W-what about you?” he found himself asking.

“What about me?” Jean asked. He was playing with Marco’s hair again, and Marco smiled tiredly at the contact.

“Don’t you want me to-?”

“Oh.” Jean paused. “Do you want to?”

Marco gulped. He wanted to. He did. He wanted to make Jean just as pleading and turned on and plain _hot_ as he’d been. But something spiked into the back of his mind, and he sighed. “I do…b-but…”

“If there’s a ‘but’, then don’t,” Jean said, kissing his forehead. “I’d rather you be comfortable. I don’t want to push you into anything, Marco, not when you’re not ready.”

Marco had a feeling Jean might have had first-hand experience in that department, but thought it best not to mention it. He was just grateful, he realised as he kissed his way down Jean’s body. The worrying would come later.

_Yeah,_ he thought as he wrapped his arms around Jean and pulled him close, _that would come later._


	18. Whichever Way The Wind Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this was a long chapter.  
> In which you've got to feel sorry for Armin (again), Jean's a little musical, more bonding moments with horses and a nasty surprise is in store for poor ol' Marco...
> 
> I'm so glad all of you are enjoying this cus seriously I think your support is keeping this thing going :D I can't wait for Sundays to roll around nowadays (and also dread them because I panic for the word count and content eeeee) but your lovely comments here and on Tumblr really make it worth it, so thank you! (I know I'm a sap like this most weeks but it's genuine. Merp.)
> 
> As usual, my tumblr is heeeere: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/

“AmIabadpersonfornotdoingitback?”

“Er, yeah, hello, nice to hear from you at such a godawful hour, how are you, oh can’t complain…”

“ _Armin_.”

Marco was sat in the middle of Jean’s bed, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, trying not to go into a full-blown self-conscious _episode_. The anxiety had held out until the morning, and now it was back with a vengeance. And what could he do to sate the squirming in his stomach? _Phone Armin, apparently._ “I’m serious!”

“So am I, what are you doing phoning me so early in the morning blabbering like an idiot?”

Marco brought a hand over his eyes and groaned. Armin wasn’t usually so snippy. He must have had a bad night’s sleep. Great, more guilt. He didn’t know why he was phoning _Armin_ of all people. Well, he did; Armin’s number was at the top of his call history under Jean’s. But that was as far as logic got to explaining it; it was as much a mystery to Marco as it was to Armin. He’d just had an urge to confide in someone, and unfortunately for Armin he happened to be the lucky victim. “I’m at Jean’s,” he began steadily.

“…Is that meant to mean something?”

“No, Armin, I’m in his room.”

Silence. “Does geographical location mean something to this rambling trip to insanity you’re taking me on?”

Marco flopped back on the bed, the springs squeaking a little with the pressure. “Armin, c-can you save your snarky comments for another time?” he complained.

Armin huffed- he really _hadn’t_ slept- and relented, “Fine, what is it?”

“We did… stuff last night.”

Silence.

“Armin?”

“Do you want me to congratulate you or something? I’m confused,” came Armin’s slightly fainter voice.

“No!” Marco blushed. “I just… he did stuff to me, b-but I couldn’t… do anything back. I didn’t want to do it wrong, I got too nervous, a-and is that wrong? Is he going to hate me? Am I gay or not? C-cus if I can’t do anything back-”

“Marco.” Armin sounded resigned. “How would I know these things?”

“You know everything,” Marco replied meekly.

“Flattery won’t unscar me from that revelation of yours, for God’s sake.” He heard Armin’s sigh down the phone. “Okay. You’re just nervous. It’s fine, I’m sure it’s perfectly normal. I’m as clueless as you are, if you hadn’t forgotten in the excitement.”

“I know, but… I don’t think I lasted long enough. I think I… y’know, a bit too quick.”

More silence. When Armin did speak, it sounded strained. “Okay, I am hanging up now.”

“Armin, no-”

“Hanging up.”

A dialling tone met Marco’s ear seconds later. He sighed and let the phone drop onto his chest. He’d be mortified about calling Armin about his love life if he wasn’t already worrying about what Jean was thinking; he knew he’d said it was okay, that he didn’t want to push him into doing anything, but he still felt stupidly bad about it. For now, though, he was free to stew in his worry alone. Jean had gone to make them breakfast, insisting that Marco stayed in bed and got up when he was ready. Whether that was a brilliant lie to get away from his pointless boyfriend, Marco wasn’t sure. He washed a hand over his face with a grumble. He thought he was over the self-degradation, but apparently not.

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he reached for his phone again. He waited. It only took three rings for Armin to pick up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I panicked.”

“That much was obvious.”

“Forgive me?”

“Eventually. Where’s Jean?”

“Kitchen.” Marco nestled into the nearest pillow with a sigh.

“He’s making you breakfast?”

“Yeah?”

Armin chortled. “Marry him.”

“Shut up, Armin,” he yawned, raking a hand through his hair. “But seriously, am I being horrible? Am I an awful boyfriend, do you think?”

“ ** _Maaaarco._** ” There was a flurry of movement on Armin’s end, and Marco realised with a pang of guilt that Armin was probably still in bed too. The life of an equestrian (if he could even call himself that) was ridiculously early, and he often forgot that other people slept in for hours more than he did. “You know everyone says you worry too much?” he asked.

“Y-yeah…”

“Well now’s the time to listen to them.”

“But-”

“No buts. Listen. Jean’s making you breakfast, and you’re worried? Trust me, from all I’ve heard breakfast is a very good sign.”

Marco frowned. “But Jean’s so experienced compared to me! And what if he thinks I’m boring and pointless and not worth his time and Marlow made him feel better than I do and he-”

“Oh my god, stop.” Armin suddenly sounded very un-Arminlike. He sounded more awake. He sounded… _angry._ Marco winced. Armin rarely got angry. “Marco, you’re panicking again. If he thought you were boring, he wouldn’t be with you. And don’t you _ever_ compare yourself to Marlow again. Ever. That nasty piece of work isn’t worth the air it takes to say his name. He made Jean’s life a misery- you’ve already proven you’re better by being nice to him.”

Marco bit his lip. He knew that. He _did._ Armin made sense. He was logical. He realised that that was why he’d called him. He needed logic. He needed rationality. In his panics and worries, he needed someone to ground him, and when Jean wasn’t about then Armin was the next best thing. He didn’t even know about the bruises, didn’t know Marco fretted about them every night despite Jean’s adamant protests that they were fine, and he still saw how bad Marlow was for Jean. He knew how much Jean needed Marco, and still instilled the confidence he needed so badly. He sighed. He owed Armin so much. He owed Armin everything. “Y-you’re right,” he said finally. “Yeah. Thanks, Armin. You know how I get.”

“No problem. Look, bedroom activities aside, this is your first relationship. You’re going to be nervous, and you’re going to make mistakes. Jean probably knows that- he had to go through it too. Just relax, and it’ll be fine.” There was a pause. “But please don’t go phoning me in the morning asking for sex tips again. I don’t want the image of you having sex burned into my brain, okay?”

Marco chuckled weakly. “Okay, it’s a deal. S-sorry.” Suddenly, a sound reached his ear that was definitely not coming from his phone. It was a gentle, tinkling sound, like fairy music, fleeting and minimal. Only when a deeper, more resonant sound joined it did Marco realise it was the keys of a piano. He frowned. “Uh, Armin? I better go, someone’s… I think someone’s playing a piano.”

“A _piano?!_ Where are you, an Austen novel?”

Marco said his goodbyes (and further apologies) and hung up, throwing the covers back and pulling on his jeans messily whilst the tune continued to be played in small spurts. He’d kicked them of under the covers the night before, but didn’t feel comfortable walking around Jean’s house without them on. His brain stupidly screamed _‘HAUNTED PIANO’_ as he trudged down the corridor, following the soft chords with caution. Who was playing? Jean said it was only them in the house, save a housekeeper. Was she a secret musical prodigy? Jean was still making breakfast. Was it a burglar? What kind of burglar broke into people’s houses to play their pianos? Marco shook his head of the ridiculous half-formed notions as he continued to creep along.

He followed the music downstairs and into a drawing room, the large windows on one side of the room spilling in waves of light. Peeking his head around the corner, visions of piano-playing housekeepers and burglars still danced around his mind, but what he saw rooted him to the spot.

A very well-loved black piano stood along the length of one wall, a laptop perched precariously atop a cupboard beside it. There was a grinning person on its screen, but Marco wasn’t really focused on that. He was focused on the scruffy ash undercut the piano player was sporting. “Jean?” he questioned.

“Oh, who’s Mr. Handsome over there?” came a voice from the laptop.

Jean spun around with a jarring blare of noise from where his hand had slammed down on the piano keys. The whole piano seemed to be complaining loudly. His eyes widened. “M-Mar-”

“I didn’t know you played,” Marco said, inching into the room bit by bit. He tucked his hands into his pockets feebly. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just…”

“It’s okay.” Jean smiled, albeit weakly and a little consciously, and turned back to the laptop. “Bastien was just leaving.”

“Honestly, is that any way to talk to your brother?” the figure on screen huffed.

Marco took a few steps closer, curiosity overriding his qualms for the moment. Bastien resembled Jean a little, though not as much as Marco expected him to. He had dark hair, the same dark as Jean’s undercut, though the messy hair gene seemed to run in the family as it was sticking up on end like hands had been run through it. They had the same grin, the same arching eyebrows, but their eyes were different. Where Jean’s eyes were like amber, his brother’s were so blue they were piercing. It was a colour, Marco guessed, he’d gotten from their mother. The more he looked at him, the more he could see little ticks that showed just how similar the two were. Then Bastien grinned. “Wow, Jean, he _is_ a cutie isn’t he?”

“BASTIEN!” Jean snapped as heat shot into Marco’s cheeks. “You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Just because I’m not gay doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a nice-looking guy, Jean, calm down.” The blue eyes shifted, and Marco realised that they were focusing on him. “I gave Jean some music ages ago, and he _said_ he’d been practicing, but I didn’t believe him. Sorry if he woke you up.”

“Oh, n-no, he didn’t wake me,” Marco frowned. “It’s nice to meet you- er- sort of.”

Bastien laughed. “What’s your name? You’re awfully polite to be hanging around Jean.”

“Does anyone here actually like me?” Jean scowled.

“Well, he has to if he’s giving you one.”

“ _Bastien.”_

The figure sighed so loudly it interfered with the laptop speakers. “Fine, I guess I’ll go. Got to get to the courts in an hour. Nice seeing you Jean, and you too, nameless handsome boyfriend of my brother.”

“His name is _Marco_ ,” Jean said.

Bastien beamed. “Suits him. See you soon, Jean and Marco!” The Skype call disconnected with a _bleep._

Jean gaped soundlessly at the screen for a moment, and then spun around to face Marco. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out, “My brother’s a complete idiot, and he doesn’t get to talk to me often cus he’s out of the country so the time zones are all messed up and he had to pick _this morning_ of all mornings to call and ask me to play for him-”

Marco chuckled good-naturedly. Now with Bastien gone, his anxiety had settled back down in his stomach, purring like a sleeping animal until the next time. “It’s alright. Really. I was up anyway. W-what were you playing?” he asked, walking over to Jean properly and standing behind him. Wow, the piano looked old. Maybe it was a family heirloom.

Jean was blushing. “N-nothing, just a tune from this old film we used to watch sometimes as kids”

“What film?” When Jean looked deeply uncomfortable, Marco frowned. “What? What could it possibly be?”

“… _The Last Unicorn_ …” Jean muttered.

Marco sniggered. “Wow, Jean. Wow.”

Jean’s blush flared up. “H-hey, don’t you judge me! It was always Cerise’s pick, and she always picked that! It wasn’t even _that_ good,” he muttered, trying to recover some of his damaged pride, “but the music was nice. I wanted piano music for it for ages, and Bast only just found some.”

Marco smiled and rested his chin on Jean’s shoulder. “Well, from what I heard upstairs, it sounded great.”

Jean scoffed. “You _would_ say that.”

“No, I mean it! You have real talent, Jean! I didn’t know you could play.”

“Lessons,” he replied, playing with the nearest keys he could reach, “since I was six. Dad liked the idea of at least one of his kids being musical.”

“So Bastien doesn’t play?”

“Nah. He can sort of sing though. Sort of. You should see us at parties.” Jean smiled. “He’s alright, as brothers go. I mean, sure he’s in a top-notch job that he was pushed into and fucking loathes, but at least he doesn’t brag about how much he earns every Christmas like Alex and Cerise do.” He shrugged. “And he doesn’t care that I date guys, so I guess that’s another plus.”

Marco wanted to say that he sounded nice, but realised you couldn’t really tell what a person was like from a five minute Skype conversation that was mainly directed at someone other than yourself. So he just pecked Jean on the cheek to sate his curiosity. That seemed like the right decision, for Jean smiled and twisted around to plant a small kiss on his lips in return. “Did you sleep alright?” he asked, and sounded genuinely interested.

“Fine,” Marco replied, wrapping his arms around Jean for good measure. Armin’s words came tumbling back into his brain like unwanted visitors, and he frowned at them. “Uh… Jean?”

“Mmm?” Jean’s head tilted so that he was looking up at Marco, the small smile still on his face.

“Are you- what I mean to say is- last night, were you-” Marco tutted at himself. He couldn’t get the words out, no matter how defiantly they queued up to be spoken.

Jean’s brows furrowed. “Marco, are you trying to apologise for something?” he asked. “I know that’s normal procedure with you, but if you’re about to apologise for not giving me a handjob back last night I may have to refuse you breakfast.”

Marco froze. “How did you-?”

“Because I know you, and I know what you worry about.” Jean smirked. “It was also a bit of a shot in the dark, but I’m a good guesser, right?”

Marco sighed. “Yeah…” He nuzzled his cheek against Jean’s hair and smiled to himself. “I just… I shouldn’t be dwelling on it, should I?”

“Nope.”

“And I’m being ridiculous?”

“Yep.” Jean’s hand appeared to pat Marco’s cheek gently. “Remember what I told you when we first got together?”

Marco paused. “You said a lot of things.”

“The important thing.”

“Er…”

“I said,” Jean replied, shifting his head away from Marco’s and looking up at him, “that I can do patient. I know I’m an impatient person most of the time, but not for this, I promise. Just know that we can take this at your pace. It’s fine.”

“But… but Jean, I don’t know _anything_ and you know _things_ …”

“It’s fine, Marco.”

“But-”

“ _Fine.”_ Jean arched his head to give Marco a quick kiss on the chin. “I got a call from Levi earlier, he wants to work with Titan today so he needs you to meet him in the indoor arena at ten. I have my lesson at half ten so it works out pretty well.”  He smiled. “I think Levi likes you.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah. He usually makes the owners stay as far away as possible- doesn’t want them tampering with his ‘work’. You must be a pretty special snowflake.” Jean grinned, tapping a few keys with his fingertip to make the same tinkling music Marco had heard before. “Like I didn’t know that already.”

Marco blushed violently. “That was so cheesy.”

Jean just grinned again. “Sorry.” He tapped at the keys a final time before turning back to Marco. “Do you want breakfast now? Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked…”

Marco smiled, giving an ‘I don’t mind’ shrug, and sat down on the bench next to him. Jean blinked. “I didn’t hear all of it. Could you play it again?” Marco asked, gazing down at the keys. “It… sounded good, from what I heard.”

Jean turned a tasteful shade of pink at his words. “R-really?”

Marco nodded, and tentatively brushed a hand against Jean’s jawline. It fired up little tingles in his fingertips, and made him smile all the more. “Yeah, it did. Play it for me again?” he asked.

“I dunno…”

“Jean, play for me,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss Jean gently on the lips, the hand on his jaw pulling him closer. Jean responded with a satisfied hum, kissing him back with the same amount of tenderness, and Marco realised just how difficult it was to kiss someone when you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. _Armin was right_ , he thought as Jean pulled away to play a few beginning chords to ready himself. Marco watched the intense, determined expression Jean held on his face as he began to play, the music filling every curve and crevice Jean’s body yielded to the piano. Marco smiled, planting a kiss on Jean’s cheek as he played. Jean’s hand slipped and proclaimed a loud, rude chord instead. Marco chuckled. _He had nothing to worry about_.

 

* * *

 

Even though Marco insisted that he had slept fine and was quite happy to stay in Trost for another night, Jean was adamant that they were leaving Sunday evening. When Marco asked him, Jean gave a little shrug and admitted that he felt more comfortable at the Bodt stables. And he was missing Sina. Marco had a feeling he had thrown that in to stop himself sounding strange, but he didn’t mind. They still had the rest of the day; Jean was training and Marco was helping Levi. Although, Marco thought with a frown, ‘helping’ was probably the wrong word to use. ‘Standing to one side and hoping he wouldn’t get told off’ sounded more likely.

Titan’s session with Levi had started off minimal. All Levi had done was let Titan off to roam freely in the arena (Levi had closed it off to make the space smaller) and watched him like he had before, his eyes steely and critical as he observed every twitch and stride Titan made. Marco had watched from the side of the arena, wondering what on earth the trainer was doing, until Levi beckoned him over. “I want you to follow him wherever he goes,” he instructed, “and take this.” He handed Marco a coiled rope.

“Er…”

“Swing it against your leg once he gets moving,” Levi said, “and don’t be afraid. Look him in the eye, and be assertive. Can you do that?”

Marco frowned. “I guess so.”

“Good. I’ll show you.” Levi took the rope from Marco’s hands and walked up to Titan, not even breaking stride when the gelding swung around to stare at him. Levi flicked the rope at Titan’s hind legs. “Go on, get moving!” he barked. Titan sprang into a canter to avoid the rope, ears back and body coiled in a buck. Levi then began to coil up the rope and hit it against his leg, the noise enough to keep Titan moving as he followed him around the small space. When he passed Marco, he slipped the rope into his hands and gave him a less than gentle push in Titan’s direction. “Keep doing it,” he said. “Go and stand in the middle and keep your gaze fixed on him.” Marco did as he was told, and continued to do it. He wasn’t sure what he was doing- was it a strange kind of lungeing?- until he noticed Titan’s ear flick towards him. “That’s it,” Levi said behind Marco, making him jump, “Keep going, you’ve got his attention.”

Five circuits of the arena later and Titan was beginning to slow down, the circles he was making becoming smaller and smaller with every circuit. Marco raised a brow when he noticed Titan’s mouth moving in licking and chewing motions. “What’s-?”

“He’s telling you that he respects you, and he wants to be allowed back in.”

“Back in?”

“Horses are herd animals, Bodt, they like company. Their safety is in numbers. What you’re doing is standing in the position of the lead mare and pushing him away like he’s a disobedient foal. He’s asking to be let into your ‘herd’.”

“Right.” Marco thought it all sounded ridiculous, until he saw Titan slow even more and lower his head, still licking and chewing, and realised how small Titan looked suddenly. It was like he had shrunk a few sizes just by changing his body language. He was barely trotting now, his circle so small he could brush past Marco if he wanted to, and Marco could hear his horse’s laboured breath. He glanced at Levi, who had a thin smile on his face.

“Now, drop the rope and turn away from him. And wait.”

Marco did exactly that, and waited. He heard shuffling hooves behind him, and sucked in a breath. And then he felt a soft, anxious nose on his shoulder. He turned his head a fraction, and saw that Titan was looking back at him, completely calm. He turned around and laid a hand on Titan’s nose, stroking it carefully.

“Join up,” Levi said, more to himself than to Marco, and added, “Now walk away from him. He’ll follow you, if you’ve got it right.”

He did. Titan followed him like they were joined by an invisible thread, his licking and chewing slowly disappearing. Marco made an entire looping circuit of the arena and Titan kept pace with him, their feet sinking into the sand at exactly the same moment. Marco grinned to himself, and saw that Levi was watching with a small smile and folded arms. He looked proud. There was a spark in those cold eyes Marco hadn’t seen before, and he realised that Jean had been right about Levi- he wasn’t a people person, he was a horse person. When they were leading Titan back to his stall, Levi said, “For a horse that’s got a lot of trauma, he definitely trusts you, Bodt. You know that, don’t you?”

Marco smiled a little. “Sir?”

“Levi,” he was corrected. “Your horse took less than half an hour to join up with you, and for a first time that’s a record. He has a lot of trust in you, and you need to put trust in him. You froze up a few times- that made him nervous. It’s a two-way channel, between horse and rider, so you have to work on it just as much as he does.” He fixed Marco with a stare when they stopped before the stall. “Horses are sensitive creatures. Forget about anything you’ve read about them, I am telling you the truth about them. They run on fear, it’s how they survive in the wild. They are scared, cowardly, unpredictable animals- _if_ they fall into the wrong hands.”

His words were broken into by an angry squeal that came from Sawney. The black stallion had shoved his head out of his stable door and was fixing Titan with a furious expression, ears flat back against his head and eyes rolling in their sockets. “Wh-what’s wrong with him?” Marco asked. “He doesn’t look like he’s scared.”

Levi glanced at Sawney, and sighed. “Yeah, he is. Anger derives from fear. Sawney’s had a bad life, a bad time.”

“Jean said he was a menace.”

Levi’s brow quirked. “Oh, did he? Well, maybe Kirschtein fails to realise that Sawney is only a little shit when he feels threatened.” He glanced back at his horse and said something in a soft, flowing French. Sawney took one last look at Titan, snorted, and retreated back into his stable. Levi flicked his gaze back to Marco. “One of the first things anyone needs to learn is that some horses need gentler handling than others. That goes for humans, too.”

He’d left Marco to attend to Titan after that, stating that he would go and check how the lesson was going in case ‘Auruo decided to fuck up again’ and left Marco in a state of confusion. Surely he wasn’t talking about Jean? Did he know Jean enough to know that? Marco made a soft ‘huh’ in the back of his throat before turning back to his far calmer horse. Maybe Levi wasn’t a people person, but he could still read them like the pages of a book, just like the horses he helped. But, unlike horses, people weren’t as willing to listen.

* * *

 

Marco didn’t see Levi for the rest of the morning. He spent it wandering the stables trying to find the arena that Jean was having his lesson- and failed to find it for half an hour after finishing up with Titan.

He was close to giving up, feeling more awkward than ever before, when he caught sight of the tall, thin boy from the day before trying to groom his mare. Trying, because the mare didn't seem to want him to get close to her with the brush he was wielding. He had a pained expression on his face, and looked ready to cry with frustration as the mare swung her haunches out of the way for the third time. Marco stopped in his tracks and frowned. The boy had seemed as nervy as when he'd first met him, and that didn't exactly scream 'threat' to him. But then again, these were elite people, with elite horses. Maybe he didn't want a lowly stable boy's help?

"Brynja, please!" he implored of the mare, swiping at her with the brush for the fifth time.

Okay, he was going over. Marco gathered up what little confidence he had and walked towards them, trying to remain as quiet as he could so as not to startle Brynja further. She heard his approach anyway, and let out a worried whinny in his direction. The boy's head spun around, and he seemed to break out in even more of a sweat. "H-hey," Marco began, "do you want some help...um, Bertholdt, right?"

Bertholdt looked like he wanted to hug him. "Y-yes please, if it's not too much trouble!" he blurted, offering Marco a weak smile in return. "B-Brynja, she's a bit... a bit of a..."

"Handful?" Marco answered for him. Bertholdt nodded violently, and Marco took a step closer to the mare. She took a step away. "Hey, pretty girl," he cooed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a sugared almond. They were his secret stash for Titan, but what his horse didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "What's all the fuss about, eh?"

Brynja watched him nervously for a full minute when he held out the peace offering. But then, with quivering lips and slightly flattened ears, she took it from his outstretched palm. Bertholdt's eyes bulged. "H-how did you-?"

Marco smiled consciously. "My horse loves these. I dunno, most horses will do anything for food."

"O-oh." Bertholdt blushed heavily, and Marco found himself wondering for the first time if he ever resembled so much of a tomato as the other boy did. He spotted the grooming kit on the floor and stooped down to pick up a body brush. The soft bristles wouldn’t exactly get much dirt out of Brynja’s coat, but it would give her a softer treatment than the curry comb Bertholdt was brandishing at her. Bertholdt nodded weakly in answer to Marco’s unasked question, and he took another step towards the mare, running the brush down her shoulder in a careful, steady stroke. Marco smiled when he felt Brynja’s muscles relax under his brush strokes. Bertholdt cut into his moment. "I didn't know that. About the food. I... I don't know much about horses."

Marco let out a small chuckle, halting his brushing to glance up at Bertholdt again. "It's okay, no one does when they start out. I only know because I've lived at a stables all my life."

"You do?" Bertholdt blinked in a bovine fashion. "You're so lucky..."

"Lucky's the wrong word," Marco laughed, "considering I have to be up so early all the time!"

Bertholdt chuckled too, and Marco smiled at how easily the words were coming to him. Usually he'd be blabbering away like an idiot until the poor victim he'd tried to interest made their excuses and left, but now... He continued to brush her, keeping his strokes steady but firm in order to get some of the dirt out of her coat, before swapping it for Bertholdt’s curry comb that he started to use in small circular motions. The mare tensed a little at first, the rubber teeth of the brush feeling strange on her thin coat, but Marco was persistent and eventually she came to accept it. It took him a while to notice that Bertholdt wasn’t brushing her at all, and was instead just staring at Marco in what looked like impressed awe. Marco felt the prickles of self-consciousness rise to the surface, and ducked his head against the mare’s swan-like neck.

"Brynja doesn't like being groomed very much," Bertholdt said finally, turning back to the mare. "In fact, I don't think she likes _anything_ very much."

"I'm sure that's not true," Marco said, although the way the Arabian held herself suggested to him that she was constantly getting ready to bolt. "Is Levi helping out with her?"

"I want him to," Bertholdt said, "and he tries, but... sometimes I think she's beyond help."

Marco frowned. "That doesn't sound like something Levi would think, though. I-I mean, I've only met him for a few hours and he seems pretty determined."

"Yeah, well..." Bertholdt trailed off with a smile. It felt less breakable than before. "H-has he helped much with your horse? Titan?"

"Sort of," Marco said. "I mean, I think it's going to be okay. He's responding well, I think..."

Bertholdt looked thoughtful. "Brynja's just a bit... well she's Brynja. My dad bought her for me, but I don't think I'm ready for a horse like her. She's quite difficult."

Marco frowned. Ignorance was the devil in the equestrian world, and he knew many good horses that had been ruined by owners who bought them as status symbols and then simply neglected their general care. Bertholdt didn't seem like the type to do anything as bad as that; he seemed to radiate a sort of innocence, but the way he looked at the mare showed he wasn't comfortable around her. "Has she always been this flighty?" he asked.

Bertholdt frowned. "S-Sorta. She was quiet for the first week we had her, but Levi thought it was down to settling in."

Marco offered Brynja another sugared almond in reward as he moved the curry comb along her body. Her coat was like satin, and she felt far more delicate than Titan. She twitched at the contact as he reached her rump, but didn't move away immediately. "Maybe she's just a bit nervous around you," he suggested.

"N-nervous?"

He nodded. "I was always taught that... that horses can channel your feelings. S-so, if you were riding a horse and you were scared of it, the horse could sense that and would get scared too. So, er, even when I'm nervous or frightened about getting on a new horse, I always try to be calm... y'know, to get off on the right foot."

"I guess... I could try... b-but it's hard," the other boy replied wretchedly. Marco sighed. He knew the feeling. Bertholdt worried at his lip with his teeth, and glanced at Brynja. "I didn't even want a purebred Arabian like her. I mean, I think she's amazing, and she's beautiful, but... I was happy with the horse I had before."

Marco looked up from the mare to look at Bertholdt, his brows drawing together. "What horse did you have before?"

"An old ex racehorse. He was slow, and lazy, and didn't like jumping very much, but..." Bertholdt shrugged. "I really liked him. B-but I guess... I guess I couldn't compete on him, so what was the point in keeping him?"

Marco tried not to blurt out how sorry he felt for him. Maybe that was how people worked in the proper, elite competition world? If a horse wasn't good enough, they sold it on- end of story. He knew people did it. He saw horses sold within months of being with an owner because they weren't winning prizes. But that didn't mean it was something he agreed with. Bertholdt looked genuinely upset at the memory of losing his old horse, and now he was saddled with a nervous harpy of a mare that he was scared to death of. He sighed. "That... that sucks." That was all he could find to say.

Bertholdt met his gaze, his eyes widening a fraction as though he hadn't ever heard that before. "It... it does, yeah, it r-really does," he said, his voice kind of awed by how much Marco was getting it. "I miss my old horse so badly, but... but Brynja's my responsibility now."

Marco gave him a small smile. "I'm sure she'll be great, you just have to get used to her." He thought for a moment. "I know it's none of my business, but I wondered... what are you feeding her?"

"F-feeding her?" Bertholdt frowned.

Marco blushed and kept his eyeline focused on the floor of the yard, and Brynja's pale hooves shuffling impatiently. "Yeah, I mean sometimes a horse is scared because of something hurting them they're trying to escape from like ill-fitting tack. But sometimes, they’re not scared at all- they’re just really hyperactive because there’s too much energy in their diet... I dunno." Marco shook his head and tucked a hand in his pocket uncomfortably. "Maybe check what feed you've got for her and see if it's got a high content of anything with slow releasing energy."

"It could really be her feed?"

Marco nodded, but didn't get the chance to respond. The clop of hooves behind him made both he and Bertholdt turn, and heading towards them were Reiner and Jean, bickering amongst themselves as usual. Jean was leading a chocolate brown horse with no white markings to speak of, and it pulled forward to meet Marco with pricked ears and a friendly look to its eye. "Marcooo, where were you?" Jean said, a small grin on his face. It was his post-riding face, and Marco knew the exhilarated expression well. It made him smile to see it. "You missed me whipping Reiner's ass on the cross country course."

"Lies upon lies," Reiner retorted.

"S'true."

"Upon deceit upon lies."

Marco chuckled. "I- er- got lost."

Jean snorted. "You twat." It was said with such affection that Marco couldn't get angry about it. He patted his charge consciously, though the way he looked at him showed such pride. "This is Buchwald."

Marco's smile grew. "The colt in the photo?" He reached out and stroked along the horse's nose, his stomach settling in the presence of gentle horses once more. "He grew really well," he commented, laughing when the horse butted him playfully.

Jean's smile was sombre as he moved to stand in front of the gelding, resting his head on the velvet nose with a tender expression. "Yeah," he replied softly, "yeah."

"Watch out, Marco, Jean and Buchwald will be announcing their engagement in the not so distant future!" Reiner called out.

Marco felt a strange kind of weight settle on his chest when he realised Jean was too happy to care. How many other people had been dictated to by their parents here, and how many had broken bonds with the horses they really, truly wanted as their own?

* * *

 

The drive back to Jinae didn’t feel as long as it had before. Marco was sure it was down to his nerves having disappeared, and he felt far happier to talk nonsense to Jean for the duration of the journey. Titan had loaded far better than he had before, with Levi adding that Marco had to perform join-up with him a few times a week to strengthen the bond between them, and was so quiet now he might have even been snoozing. Levi had been a little annoyed that Titan wasn’t staying at Trost, but that had been one thing Marco was stubborn about. He couldn’t leave his horse in a strange place without him there to look after him; it was impossible for him to even think about. He may have trusted Jean, but he was still wary about the sort of place Trost Academy was, especially after talking to Bertholdt and seeing the sweet sort of sadness in Jean’s eyes when he tended to Buchwald. His paranoia, for the moment, was still very much there.

“You were getting on with Bertholdt pretty well this weekend,” Jean commented as they turned into the road signposting Jinae. “You must be honoured. That guy rarely talks to anyone.”

Marco shrugged, wondering how on earth Jean had known where his train of thought had settled. “He just seems shy. He just needs someone to let him come out of his shell. He’s like me, a little.”

Jean snorted. “Yeah, except he’s a head taller and sweaty as anything.” When Marco gave him a disapproving look, he added, “He’s a good guy, Marco, you’re right. He needs a little encouragement sometimes, but he’s nice.”

Marco smiled. “Yeah. He gave me his number, in case anything comes up with Brynja. I don’t know, but I think I might have helped with her a little. He wasn’t as nervous as he was before with her.”

Jean smirked. “You got his number? Do I have to be jealous?”

“No!” Marco shot back, his cheeks burning with how quick he’d been to retort.

“I was kidding. But yeah, Brynja?” Jean sighed. “She makes everyone nervous. Unpredictable horses aren’t good, Marco, you know that.”

“Still,” Marco said, “I think he _wants_ to like her, but there’s definitely a problem. Could Levi give her a look too?”

“Maybe, if Bertholdt’s father let him. But he’s adamant that there’s nothing wrong with Brynja, says it’s just because Bertl can’t handle her.” Jean turned onto a narrower road, and the familiar features of Jinae began to blend into the scenery around them.

“Wow, he sounds like a top notch father.”

“Sarcasm is starting to grow on you, isn’t it? But eh, business is business.”

“Maybe people are in it for the wrong reason if they’re calling it a ‘business’.” Marco shrugged, and offered Jean a smile. “That’s not your opinion, either- that’s your Dad’s. I can tell. I think you know that riding horses isn’t a business, not for us at least.” Jean glanced over at him and let out a strange little whining noise when he was forced to focus back on the road, to Marco’s amusement. “What?” he chuckled.

“You could cause a car accident saying things like that,” Jean muttered, a smile of his own springing to his face. “Not only are you right, you’re also being so goddamn romantic about it all.”

Marco tutted. “I’m never right. I just say something and hope it sounds good. And, uh, don’t you know? I was a born romantic.”

“Sounds about right. Romantic baby.” Jean leaned over the width of the car and kissed the side of Marco’s head he could reach. Marco spluttered out something about not calling him baby and keeping his eyes on the road but Jean just laughed, making Marco’s blush quadruple in intensity. “How did the session with Titan go?”

“It went okay,” Marco replied, shuffling to look out of the window at the rolling fields. He figured if he didn’t keep eye contact with Jean, he wouldn’t want to launch himself across the seats at him. And that would _definitely_ end up in an accident. Practice what you preach, and all that. “Levi seemed pretty impressed, so I think that means we’re making progress.”

“That’s great.” Marco had to turn and look then, because the smile in Jean’s voice was almost physical and he needed to see if it was actually there. His stomach flipped when it was. “That means you might be riding him soon. Which _means_ you can actually compete in the competition I entered you in this morning.”

Marco froze. He felt like something inside him shattered- maybe it was his confidence, his resolve, something like that. But it was gone, broken into a thousand pieces and laying at his feet. “Wh-what?!” he spluttered.

Jean was still smiling. “Trost Academy is running a show-jumping competition at the end of the summer, which is approaching scarily soon, I might add.”

Marco was starting to feel very, very sick. "Trost Academy is running a showjumping competition and you didn't tell me?" he said faintly. He was trying not to worry about it. Trying to ignore the feeling bubbling up inside that he thought was gone for at least a month or more, that horrible, sickening, you're-not-good-enough feeling... "Jean, I can't."

"Of course you can, I entered you. Can't back out now. I'm competing, Reiner's competing, even Bertl's competing. Come on, Marco. You know how good you'd be, and Titan would work so hard for you. Don't you understand how much he wants to please you?"

"Please, Jean, no..."

"Marco," Jean sighed as they rumbled into the main part of the village, "at least think about it? For me?"

Marco didn't usually take kindly to emotional blackmail. _Because that's what it was_ , he reasoned as he gazed at Jean giving him the biggest puppy eyes he possibly could. _Emotional blackmail of the extreme kind._ But instead he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, slumping down into the seat. "I'll... I'll think about it," he said finally. Jean's eyes lit up. "B-but I'm only thinking about it! That's all! And if I compete...t-then I want my stables to be able to compete too." He figured that even if he made a fool of himself on the course, they would have Mikasa and Eren to mop up the remainder of Bodt Stables' dignity. Before Sasha and Connie completely demolished it again, of course. Wait, he was thinking about competing already?! That wasn't enough time at all! Marco let out a small wailing noise and slumped down further.

"Woahhh, you sound like a dying whale, man," Jean observed with a grin. Marco wailed even louder. "Hey, calm down, it's not as though I asked you to ride him in a 3 Day event, is it?"

"Good, because Titan wouldn't do Dressage," Marco mumbled between his fingers. He couldn't recall when he'd put his head in his hands, but they were certainly there now. God, why was he such a pushover for Jean? If anyone else had even mentioned the idea he would have shot them down, albeit as politely as he could, but the moment Jean asked anything of him he tried. He tried for him. Marco realised, with another muted wail, that it wasn't that at all; Jean just motivated him to do things he wouldn't normally do. He didn't demand or command him to do anything- he just asked, and that was better than anything.

A buzz in his pocket alerted him to a text message, and he fished his phone out whilst still trying not to look at Jean. He was still trying to ignore him. Or something. When he saw what it was he huffed. "What is it?" Jean asked.

"Mum wants to know if we're close to the village yet, she needs us to pick something up for her," Marco said, tapping out a reply as he spoke.

"We can stop," Jean replied with a shrug. "No problem."

Marco frowned. He had been halfway through a text that read: 'No we're not, sorry! :(' "You don't have to, she can go later."

"Where's that kind, caring son I thought you were?"

"Right next to the boy who was never going to compete his horse again, apparently."

"Ohhh, so you're doing it then?"

 _Crap_. "N-no, I don't know yet, I'm still gonna think about it!" Jean's smug face fired him up even more. "L-look, stop it! I'll tell you when I'm ready, alright?"

Jean shrugged. "Alright. But we're stopping."

"Jean, we really don't need t-"

"Stopping."

"But-"

"Stoooopping."

They'd stopped. Already. Jean was out of the car with a playful chuckle before Marco could give him a not so playful whack. Marco followed suit with a wince, drawing his jacket a little closer to his body as the biting wind snatched at the hems. Jinae had a tendency of defying all the odds and still remaining grey and stormy when the rest of the country was in the grip of sunny spells. "Jeez, it's fucking cold!" he heard Jean complain, and when he turned back saw that he did, in truth, only have his rather thin Trost Academy polo shirt on. His arms were goose-pimpled already, and he wouldn't be surprised if Jean started shivering.

"I told you Jinae got cold," Marco chided softly, walking around the car to reach him. "But did you listen? Nooo."

"I can't ever remember you saying that," Jean hissed.

"Almost makes you wish you hadn't stopped, hmm?"

"Okay, you have definitely been around me too long, Freckles."

Marco bit back a grin. "Oh, so it's Freckles now, is it? Where did 'baby' go?"

"Dead in a ditch," Jean grumbled. He was definitely shivering now.

"Aw." Marco put an arm around him and pulled him close, their bodies slotting together at the hip. "I'm sorry."

"You're even apologising for the weather? Damn Freckles, if you're the one responsible for that I should blame you more often." Jean grabbed for Marco, his hand appearing around Marco’s waist to keep them close. Marco was sure it was to keep warm, but he didn’t miss the slight blush to Jean’s cheeks afterwards.

"Oh, don't you know? I am definitely in charge of that," he said. “I have my secret weapon.”

"What?" Jean burrowed in deeper to Marco's jacket, sighing contentedly.

"Conceal, don't feel," Marco grinned.

Jean's face went blank. "You did not just do that."

"I think I did. You just have to learn to… let it go."

"Oh my fucking god."

Marco laughed as Jean pressed his face to the side of his neck, the chill of his skin flush against his own. He was still shivering. Marco didn’t have the heart to push him away, even though they were getting a number of strange looks from the old dears making their way to the bakery or butchers nearby. He realised, with a weird little jolt, that he didn’t care what they thought of him. He smiled, and held Jean tighter. “Wait here, I’ll go and get whatever it is she wants,” he muttered into Jean’s hair. By some miracle, Jean heard him.

“You sure?” he asked. His teeth were chattering.

“Certain. Here.” Marco pulled away, his chest clenching at the deprivation, and unzipped his jacket without hesitation. He knew if he did, Jean would notice and demand he kept it on. Even if he was cold, he was far more used to the strange Jinaean weather than Jean was. Marco was taller than Jean was, and bigger. Jean was a beanpole in comparison to Marco, and as he handed the jacket to him and Jean stared like it was about to wake up and eat him, Marco chuckled. "Come on, or I'm going to regret ever giving this to you."

Jean took it, a strange expression clouding him, and put it on. It was only a cheap hooded jacket that Marco had bought out of necessity more than anything, navy blue in colour, but it was as though he'd given Jean something made of gold. He zipped it up just as slowly as he'd put it on, like he was savouring it, and forced his hands to poke out from the sleeves. Marco felt something inside him twist at the sight of Jean in his jacket. It was baggy. It didn't show anything off about him. But he looked so comfy that it made him smile. "Better?" he asked, rubbing his arms to ward off the dreaded goosebumps.

Jean nodded mutely. "Better," he muttered softly.

Marco leaned in close and brushed their lips together, his first real public display of affection outside the stables, and bit his lip. Jean really did look great in his jacket... somehow. "I'll be right back. Get back in the car, you loon," he said. Jean pressed another kiss to his lips before he turned away, short and sweet, and Marco knew immediately that Jean would not be getting back into the car even if he froze to death outside.

His mother wanted him to pick up a few odds and ends from the grocer's for something she was preparing for dinner, along with ingredients for what he assumed to be a cake, seeing as she'd added at the end of the text: 'I want to make something nice for Erwin for when I visit next.' Marco grinned to himself as he set about finding everything. His mother really did like Erwin. She looked after her own, and he was sure Erwin was going mad being stuck in his house all day. After being used to rushing around and getting things ready at the stables, he imagined it would feel pretty strange not doing any of those things again. Still, his days of rest were getting used up, slowly but surely, and from what he'd heard from his mother Erwin would be walking around without the aid of a crutch in no time.

After paying with the measly amount of money he had left in his wallet (she would owe him one) Marco left the shop without really focusing on anything in particular except the biting cold. He was starting to regret giving Jean his jacket, when he turned his head in the direction of the pen where Hannes usually kept his Shire horses. And everything seemed to freeze.

There was a familiar figure leaning on the pen, watching the animals moving around the enclosed area with interest. He wore a battered leather jacket, and though he was facing away from him Marco could see the telltale signs of an undercut. It couldn't be. Why would he be here, of all places? But then he turned his head to the side, staring at nothing in particular, and Marco felt his heart stop. It was Marlow.

Marco was stopped dead just outside the grocer's, the people around him muttering under their breaths when he didn't move out of the way for them. His chest spiked. His face filled with colour. He wanted to hurt Marlow. Some part of him wanted to kill him. But the first thing he thought of was where Jean was. He looked around feverishly, hoping that Jean hadn't decided to follow him, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw him leant against the side of his car, tapping out a text idly. Thank god. He glanced back at Marlow- and with horror saw that he was staring right at him. His eyes widened.

Marlow's olive gaze levelled with his own, and the two just stared at each other for what seemed like ages. _I want to kill him. What is he doing here? I want to punch him in the face. How dare he turn up here._

_How._

_Dare._

 

_He._

"Hey," Marlow called out. It was a short, sharp command.

Marco bristled. He thought he wouldn't have to hear that voice again. He gulped. "Hey."

He wasn't going to move. He couldn't. He was stuck. Marlow had pushed off from the Shire horse pen and was walking though, walking straight at him with an arrogant sort of swagger that made Marco want to turn away in disgust. This was the person who caused Jean so much misery. He was the one who hit him, who called him worthless, who made him think that he was only worth the sex he gave. Marco had to actively stop his lip from curling. He took first one step forward, then another. It was like wading through mud, but he had to do it. He had to show that he wasn't going to turn away from Marlow, or recoil. He would stand his ground, no matter what.

This was, of course, all bravado. Inside, Marco was screaming at himself to leave.

Marlow stopped short of him and tilted his head to one side, an amicable smile appearing on his face. "Well, if it isn't Freckles. Long time, no see." His voice was normal, tinted with nothing sinister. Marco didn't smile back. "What have you been up to, I wonder?"

"What are you doing here?" Marco's voice shocked even himself. It was cold, detached. Dead. He couldn't bring himself to put any emotion into it- if he had, it would be anger.

Marlow looked amused at that. "It's a free country, isn't it? I can go where I like."

"I guess so. But you don't seem like you're the tourist type."

"Don't pretend that you know me, Freckles. You don't know me for shit." That was what Marco had been waiting for. The harsh tint to his voice that seemed to dwell under the surface.

"If you're looking for Jean, you're wasting your time," Marco lied, "he's in Trost. Training."

Marlow didn’t look like he believed him, but brushed the comment aside. “I’ll have to see if I can catch Jean another time, then,” he said. “It’s not just about him, you know. Maybe you and I should have a little chat sometime.” His eyes flashed when they looked back to him.

Marco bristled. He didn’t want to go anywhere near Marlow, not of his own accord at least. He knew what he was capable of now, and he was not going to get sucked in. He remembered what Marlow had said at the stables, and felt a flash of panic. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he replied as breezily as he could muster.

Marlow’s brow arched. “And why is that? You still gnawing away on that bone?”

“What do you-?”

“Jean.” Marco nearly flinched at the way Marlow spat it at him. “Still gagging for a piece of him, are you?”

“I-I’m not…” Marco was so thrown by the harshness of Marlow’s words that he didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to shout that it was different, that what he had with Jean wasn’t built on sex and bruises and secrets. But he couldn’t get that out. It was stuck in his throat, and refused to come out. So instead, he fixed him with a glacial stare. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s an object.”

Marlow snorted. “Whatever, Freckles. Whatever.”

Marco’s voice levelled. “I mean it. Don’t. Don’t talk about him like that, and don’t you _ever_ come near him again.”

"Or what?" Marlow leaned in close, so close that Marco could smell the tang of cigarette smoke on his breath. "What the fuck are you going to do, eh? You couldn't even stop him racing that nag of his in the dead of night, how are you going to stop me seeing him?"

Marco glared at him, the anger flaring in the pit of his stomach. He was close to exploding, he could feel it. "Because if you ever loved him,” he hissed venomously, “you'd know that he doesn't want to see you anymore, and you should let him go."

That brought up another laugh. "Loved him? _Loved_ him? Freckles, I never fucking _loved_ him. I wanted a virgin, he was a good fuck, and he kept his head down. Best kind of anything, that." He took another step forward, a predatory glint in his eyes, and Marco thought it was a bit too close. He gulped, and stood his ground. Marlow was a match for his height, which meant that he could stare Marco down far better than Jean ever could. He peered at him with a vague sort of interest that made Marco’s mind scream a warning. “You know, I think you two are similar,” he said with a serpent-like smile. “You look… pretty innocent. I could fuck that innocent right out of you if you let me.”

Marco couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot like a rabbit in headlights, in the path of a hunter, a prey animal shivering and shaking in the Jinaean cold. But he kept it together. He had to. He couldn’t show Marlow how uncomfortable he was. He refused to link the word _scared_ with Marlow. He wasn’t scared. He would never be scared of him- just disgusted. All he could do was blink at him; blink at him in absolute horror. Marlow smirked and reached out to him, and Marco’s skin prickled as Marlow’s thumb stroked the sensitive skin of his lip. “I bit him there,” Marlow observed, “remember? I could bite you there, too. I could bite you wherever I wanted, and you’d want it. You’d want it so bad you’d beg for it, just like he did. You look like the greedy type.”

Then, something snapped. Marco wrenched his head away and slapped Marlow’s hand from him with a snarl curling on his lips. Marlow looked startled for a moment, before he let out a sharp laugh. Marco wanted to punch him. He could envision his hand curling into a fist, swinging up and crashing against Marlow's nose with the force of a horse's kick. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't even move. But this time it wasn’t discomfort; he was paralysed with sheer fury. "Stay the fuck away," he hissed.

Marlow snorted. "Oooh hoo hoo, look at you swearing. Precious. Fucking precious." But he was backing away, pushing his hands down into his pockets and letting his smirk become a little less threatening. “Fine. Your loss. Go running back to Jean with your tail between your legs, Freckles. He can’t do shit for you. I’ll be seeing him, though, don’t you think I won’t.”

Marco glowered at him. In a moment of bravery and possible insanity, he began to march forwards. “Don’t you dare-”

Marlow held up a hand. “Sorry, not today. Places to go, Freckles. See you around.” He gave a half wave in Marco’s direction, mocking and boastful, before he turned and disappeared into the slowly milling crowd.

And then, Marco remembered to breathe.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and when he pulled it out he saw that he had a text from Jean. ‘ _Dude, where the fuck are you? I’m freezing my balls off and I’m pretty attached to them ;)’_

He’d been that long? Marco sighed and pocketed his phone again, setting off in the direction of the impatiently waiting Jean. It turned out that not _everything_ was going as smoothly as he had thought an hour ago. And as he trudged the small distance between himself and Jean, it felt more like a ravine than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh dear. Told you he wasn't gone forever...  
> Also, this is what Jean was playing if you don't know The Last Unicorn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPMPHcdhIIc it's very pretty piano music. :)  
> Also, I couldn't resist the Frozen puns, I'm trash.


	19. Flying Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okaaay, so I managed to get this update done and dusted! I only gave it a quick once-over so apologies if you find any glaring typos!   
> This chapter's a bit of self-indulgence really. In which Marco's mother flirts like a schoolgirl, Jean turns any situation into one with sexual tension, and a fair bit of bareback riding. Oh lawd please don't pervert that I can imagine you probably will shuuuuuush. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this, it's an absolute blast to write, and I'm so glad you're all enjoying this! As usual, feedback is super appreciated and super asked for :D 
> 
> My tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/
> 
> Enjoy!

Marco didn’t tell Jean about his encounter with Marlow for a few days. Those days were some of the most painful of the summer, with Marco trying deftly to avoid Jean’s attempts at intimacy whilst busying himself around the stable yard. It wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ it; he wanted it more than anything. But whenever they leant in close, or held each other just a little too tight, Marlow’s face flashed into his vision and made him pull away with a spluttering apology and a wretched expression. It was upsetting Jean, he could tell, but he couldn’t tell him about Marlow. He couldn’t. Jean had been so _happy_ the past week or so, and mentioning Marlow would change everything. It could even bring things back to the way they had been before. Eleanor even noticed his change of mood, and made a point of sitting Marco down to talk about the birds and the bees, thinking that was what was making him so subdued. Needless to say, Marco still knew nothing but was now more than horrified about talking to his mother about anything ever again.

Marco didn’t break until the middle of the week. Jean was teaching a jumping lesson to the under 12s (small cross poles and blocks seemed to be the obstacles of the day) and Marco was just returning from a small hack with a group of girls who seemed more interested in staring at the back of his head and giggling more than actually riding. Marco had ridden Magic, and when he dismounted from the cob’s broad back he got a very loud grumbly snort in reply. “Okay, everyone run up your stirrups and twist your reins!” he called out to the assembled group. “If anyone doesn’t know where their horse goes, ask me or Hanji, okay?”

“Okay!” they all chorused, tittering amongst themselves. “What about Jean, can we ask him?”

Marco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He should have known. “I think he’s still teaching right now,” he said, smiling despite himself, “but I’m sure I can help you, Mina.” Another titter. _Girls. Oy._ The schedule dictated that Magic would be needed for a lesson soon enough, so Marco set about running up his stirrups and loosening the girth a notch or two before taking the reins over his head. The cob stood calmly, not even flinching when Marco gave the reins a gentle tug. “Come on, let’s get you put away,” he muttered.

“Marco.”

Marco gulped. Jean was stood in the middle of the yard, arms folded and a frown on his face. He was wearing green again, and Marco knew he was doing it on purpose. The slightly windswept look of his hair was less intentional, but it made his chest stutter nonetheless. “Can I talk to you?” he asked. He meant business. Marco could tell.

He knew that talking to him would be a bad idea. He had managed to keep everything about Marlow screwed in tight like a bulb, but the moment Jean dared ask about it he was sure to short-circuit and blurt out everything. “I, er, well, Magic needs to be put away…” Marco tried lamely.

“That’s alright. Mina can take him.” He glanced to the girl and tried out a debonair smile that was slightly diluted by his mood. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Mina couldn’t grab Magic fast enough. Marco let out a sigh as he watched his salvation being led away, but before he could turn back to Jean and make up another excuse he was being towed forward by the wrist. “J-Jean…”

“No. You’re talking to me right now, Marco, because I need you to.” Jean’s voice was cracking, to Marco’s surprise, and his feet sped up.  That single crack, that single sign of weakness in Jean’s voice, made Marco keep pace with him worriedly, the grip on his wrist sliding down to tangle their fingers together. Jean led them to the feed room, shutting the door behind them without a word. They were plunged into darkness for a heartbeat, and then the tired old lightbulb flickered on. “Jean, wha-?” Marco froze.

Jean had tears in his eyes. They weren’t streaming down his face yet. He was glaring at him too, but they were definitely there, pooling in the corners of his eyes. Everything stopped for Marco. Everything. He just wanted to make everything alright again, and he wanted more than anything to stop Jean from letting the tears burst their banks. “Jean,” he began slowly, “what is it?” He reached out for him, his own chest aching with how badly he wanted to comfort him.

But Jean jerked his head away, shaking it like a dog ridding itself of water. Marco’s stomach clenched. “No,” Jean said, “I’m the one who should be asking that question. What’s the matter with _you_?”

Marco stared silently at him. What did Jean want him to say? ‘ _I bumped into your ex (who I’m scared to death of by the way) and his threats scared me enough to avoid you for no good reason other than I’m scared?’_

Yeah. There was no way he could tell him that. No way at all.

“Marco, please.” Jean’s voice was close to begging now. “You gotta tell me. You have to tell me what I did wrong. I moved too fast, I made you too nervous, anything. I need to know. And… and don’t you dare try to spare my fucking feelings right now, Marco, don’t you fucking **_dare_**.”

Marco was speechless. Jean still blamed himself, whenever anything went wrong. He reached out for him again, and this time was granted Jean’s shoulder to grasp tight. “J-Jean, you’ve not done anything wrong,” he began.

Jean cut him off. “Of course I fucking have! You haven’t let me come near you the past few days, god forbid I come close enough to touch you, and for what reason? Why won’t you let me touch you now?” His voice got smaller. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

Jean was close to breaking point, and Marco couldn’t stand to see him like it. He was hurting because of Marco’s own fear. That wasn’t fair. Marco let the hand on Jeans shoulder drift up, stroking his cheek and creasing into his hair. “Jean,” Marco sighed, and found that it came out like a small sob. “I w-want you. I want you so much, you have no idea. I-I got scared, for a while, and I still am in a way, but it doesn’t matter. You’re more important.” It was true. He’d said it to calm Jean, but it was. He didn’t want to be scared anymore. He knew he didn’t _have_ to be, not now, not with Jean. They could both be worried and scared, sure, but they could get through it together. Wasn’t that how he’d coped with his accident, and Jean with Marlow’s abuse? They’d confided in one another for help, and Marco knew that he would have to share what had happened with Jean eventually. He would cave. He knew he would.

Jean nestled into Marco’s hand like it was a lifeline, the tension in his shoulders disappearing. Marco recognised it as relief. “You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said in a small voice that didn’t suit him, his eyes sliding shut.

Marco bit his lip. “That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?” Jean opened one eye to stare up at him. Then the other. “Marco, baby, what is it?” he asked, face creasing into a frown. He turned his face and kissed the tips of Marco’s fingertips one by one. “Tell me.”

Marco sighed. He had to tell him now, he realised. Living in ignorance was upsetting him just as much as knowing about it would, if not more because Jean was jumping to conclusions. He drew breath, not wanting to say it at all but knowing he had to. “I saw Marlow in the village. A-and he talked to me.”

The kisses to his fingers abruptly stopped. “W-what?”

That was the tone Marco had been dreading- the high, tense tone Jean reserved for Marlow and Marlow alone. It was the tone that was strained to breaking point, and hid the inner worry inside Jean’s system. Marco knew it all, and he hated himself for bringing it back to the surface. He stroked the corner of Jean’s face with his thumb. “I saw him. He spoke to me. And I guess… he rattled me a little, Jean. He worried me.” He glanced away with a sigh. He didn’t deserve to look at him, not after dealing him news that was sure to bring him into a panic.

“Did he touch you?” Marco’s eyes darted back to Jean. His eyes were burning, and burning with both anger and fear. _Amber-fire, amber-fire,_ Marco’s mind chanted at him. It almost made him take a step back. He’d not seen Jean so… riled. “Marco… did he touch you? Did he go anywhere near you?” His voice suddenly sounded very dangerous.

Marco thought back to that moment, the moment that was replaying over and over in his head every time Jean got near him; the moment where Marlow ran his thumb against his lip and said such vulgar things. He gulped. “N-no… he didn’t touch me…” he lied. “Just… he was saying some horrible things, Jean. Things about you, and I just wanted to...”

He clenched his teeth and looked away again. _I’d wanted to do a lot of things_ , he thought bitterly, _but I didn't do any of them_. He had just stood there and let Marlow talk poison at him. He'd wanted to defend Jean, but he ended up doing little more than shaking in his boots.

Jean shushed him, his head leaning against his own in a matter of moments, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. "That bastard... he had no right... bastard... Marco, I'm sorry... I told him to leave you out of it," he murmured.

Marco shook his head. "It's not your fault," he said. "Marlow's just... one of those people, I guess." He tilted his head down slightly to catch Jean's lips with his own. He made sure to keep it as tender as he could. "I just wish I could make him go away, Jean, I really do. He shouldn't be able to hurt you anymore, and he's threatening to and I can't-"

"Marco, sssh." Jean kissed him back, and though it was soft and gentle, there was an unbelievable amount of warmth there that made Marco grip him tighter. When Jean pulled away, Marco could still feel him playing with his hair. "It's alright. Honestly. I sort of... expected it. I didn't think he'd let me go that easy." He frowned. Marco wanted to tell him that being beaten and bruised so badly he couldn't move without it hurting didn't really constitute as being 'let go easy' in his book. But the look Jean gave him afterwards shut him up. He had a half-smile back on his face. "But it doesn't matter, because I want to be with you. I don't want to be with him, Marco, and I'll… I’ll tell him that. I'll tell him a thousand times if he needs to hear it." He smiled a little bashfully at his blunt honesty and nuzzled against the crook of Marco's neck. The warmth of his breath on bare skin sent tingles up Marco's spine, and the sort of tingles that usually made him smile like an idiot. He could even feel a smile coming on at that moment, straining behind his worries and anger to bloom. He fought it back for the moment.

It was then that he suddenly thought of something. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before; in the midst of his panic and worry, he hadn't even considered the most obvious thing to do when it came to Marlow. This was technically harassment after all, and along with the physical violence inflicted upon Jean it was the most obvious solution in the world... "Jean..." he began. One amber eye looked up at him- the other was hidden beneath the mop of ashy hair. "Don't you think we should go to the police about this?"

To his utter surprise, Jean laughed. It was a bitter, humourless laugh, and he had a feeling he'd picked it up from Marlow. His stomach twisted. "We can't do that," he said.

"W-why not?" Marco pressed. Jean said nothing. "Come on, Jean, if we go to them and tell them what Marlow's done to you-"

"I can’t. It won't work."

Marco frowned. He took a step back. Was Jean really that scared? Scared of Marlow, of what he might do to him? "Isn't it worth a shot? I'd be with you, I'd be right with you, you wouldn't have to do anything you didn't want to..."

"Marco, drop it," Jean said. He didn't look annoyed, or upset. He just looked tired, and that was what worried Marco most of all.

"No, I won't drop it. What's wrong with that?"

Jean let out a heavy sigh that seemed to rattle through his thin frame. He glanced up at Marco, and swallowed painfully. "Marlow's uncle is the chief of police. And he's as bent as they come. Anyone bothers his precious nephew and they magically disappear. That or Marlow's charges get dropped."

Marco stared at him, his chest suddenly feeling a lot more constricted. "T-The chief of police? He... he can't do that, Jean, he just can't."

Jean shrugged weakly. "He can, and he has. I know, Marlow used to brag about it often enough. His good old uncle’s been covering up for him for years. Not that he’d ever admit to it, of course."

"B-but…” Marco couldn’t quite comprehend what he was hearing. He wasn’t blind; he knew that the police cut corners. It was what they did. But the idea of Marlow getting off scott-free with nothing but a slap on the wrist was maddening. “He hurt you!" he snapped, his anger vibrating through his entire system and leaving him rattled. It made Jean jump. “He hurt you, and you’re honestly saying they won’t do anything?”

Jean shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Don't you get it? They don't give a damn."

Marco felt sick. Jean was so calm about it, like he expected it- like it was bound to happen to someone like _him._ He snatched uselessly in his mind for something, anything to prove him wrong. He found nothing. "You... you have money, maybe make him listen to that!" he tried.

"Blood is thicker than water, Marco." Jean shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't you think I've thought about all of this? That I haven't been trawling through idea after idea every night hoping that I would find something that meant I could finally be rid of him? God, I was thinking about that stuff when I was _with_ him."

Something in Marco's chest throbbed at the thought of Jean being too scared, too downtrodden, too faithless to do anything to get out of his situation. "Y-you did?" he said.

"Yeah. Figured whatever I got, that I deserved it. I dunno, you think stuff like that."

"How did you manage to-?"

"What? Get out of it when I did?" Jean's smile was diluted, sure enough, but it was there. "I guess you're that guy I felt safe with. My type. For some reason, I felt protected coming back to you. Sounds stupid, right?"

Marco felt like he should correct him. Say that he definitely wasn't the strong pillar that could hold everything together. But the single thought that he might be that pillar for Jean was enough to make him give into the smile that broke out across his face and draw Jean back to him. That was why Jean had been so worried, Marco realised. He'd thought that Marco didn't want him anymore, and his support was crumbling down in front of him. That would be enough to send anyone into a panic. "I’m scared of _everything_ ," he said, as though that was reason enough.

Jean laughed, and it was a genuine laugh. "I don't care. I need you around, Marco, and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon." He sobered then, and Marco knew he was thinking back to Marlow. "But the police is definitely out. Nile Dawkins is as bent as they come. He won't hear a word said against his perfect golden boy nephew."

"Then... what do we do?" Marco asked.

Jean thought for a moment. “How about I hold him down and you shoot between the eyes?”

“Wha- JEAN!” Marco cried. Even Marlow didn’t deserve that.

_Maybe._

_Perhaps._

_He might do._

_Shut up, brain._

Jean sniggered. “It was worth a shot.”

Marco rolled his eyes and pulled him into a hug, sighing heavily. Joking aside, Marlow was playing on his mind, and he would remain there until Marco came up with an idea to keep him away from Jean. He didn’t want to come across as possessive, but the idea of Marlow getting to within an inch of Jean was enough to bring on his shakes and tremors. That was it, then. The police was out. Talking civilly with Marlow was out. So what other option was there? Marco frowned as he felt Jean sigh against his chest. _They would cross that bridge when it came to them._ He just hoped it wouldn’t rush upon them too soon.

* * *

He knew that telling Jean about Marlow wasn't going to make Jean happy. He’d  _known_ that. But Jean spent the next few days drifting, his actions and speech faraway and simple. Marco watched him tack up horses on autopilot, and the usual spark in his teaching was gone. Even the way he was with Marco was different; the kisses seemed distant, distracted, and the both of them felt far too conscious to do anything further than heavy petting in the privacy of Marco’s room. It wasn’t like they had had an argument or fight- there was no hostility in Jean’s refusals, or rejection. He was simply thinking too much. He was getting swept up in his own headspace, and Marco knew from experience what a bad idea that was. If you waded in too deep, you could get swept away completely, and he didn’t want that to happen. He had to get Jean out of it somehow, if only for a little while. He couldn’t let Marlow ruin Jean. He couldn’t.

The opportunity came one morning. Marco stumbled out of bed, groggy and bedraggled, and noted with a heavy sigh that Jean wasn’t there with him. Jean had taken to sleeping in his own bed again.

The boy in question was already eating breakfast when Marco entered, and he swooped down to give him a small kiss on the cheek. Jean smiled at the show of affection but returned to his breakfast wordlessly. _At least the smile wasn’t as vacant as it usually is,_ Marco thought.

“Oh, Marco! About time you got up, lazy bones.” Eleanor popped her head around the door to the kitchen with a breathless grin, her hair already done up in a loose bun and a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. “Change of plan today, Hannes is coming to shoe the horses today, so it’s best we don’t have lessons. Can you make sure we have the horses that need to be seen to ready to go?”

Marco nodded. “No worries. Does Titan need shoeing?”

His mother checked the schedule she had clutched in her free hand. She grimaced. “Unfortunately.” She glanced pleadingly at Marco. “Honestly, sweetie, your choice in horses isn’t the best, is it?”

Marco scoffed. “You love Titan, don’t deny it.”

“He wins everyone over eventually,” Jean added, taking a short gulp of cooling coffee. “After all, I can’t get enough of the giant baby.” Marco stared incredulously at him. It was the first time Jean had said anything of his own accord for some time. Jean squirmed uncomfortably amid the strength of Marco’s gaze, and tried a smile. “What? It’s true.”

Before Marco could retort, Eleanor’s head snapped to the doorway, listening like a meerkat. He bit back his chuckle and helped himself to one of Jean’s pieces of toast amid his protests. "I think Hannes is here!" he heard his mother cry out joyfully, and he couldn't resist the urge to chuckle the second time. He got an icy look for his trouble. "What is so funny, young man?" Eleanor inquired.

"Nothing. Anyone would think you were waiting for him like a teenage girl," Marco muttered into his toast, his words just muffled enough to escape his mother's ears. They didn't, however, escape Jean's, as he was soon chuckling along with him. Just that one little noise from him made it sound like Jean was moving back, bit by bit. Marlow may not have been forgotten, but he could be pushed to the back of Jean's mind for the moment. Marco smiled. He had the insane urge to crush his lips against Jean's- but he held back. Just.

Eleanor huffed but her eagerness soon returned. She was practically bouncing on her heels. Sure enough, Marco heard the familiar _'clop clop clop'_ of Garrison's hooves tromping into the stable yard moments later. A cacophony of neighs greeted him. He turned to Jean as his mother bustled out of the door with a cry of, "Hannes, you're early!"

"So, any ideas for what you want to do whilst my mum's swooning over her childhood friend?" Marco asked.

Jean shrugged, and Marco's heart sank. Maybe the wall was coming up again. "I'm not bothered," he said, finishing the last of his coffee. "We could go see Armin?"

Marco recalled the last conversation he'd had with Armin, and thought the experience a little too fresh in his mind to risk visiting so soon. Armin would probably let something slip, knowing him. "Uh, well I wondered if you wanted to go for a ride?" he asked.

"A ride?" Jean's brow raised in interest. "Aren't most of the horses here going to be shod though?"

"I'm sure there's one or two who aren't." Marco smiled. "And you did mention going to the beach once. I know a bridle-path we could take, seeing as it's such a nice day."

"Really?" Jean's eyes lit up.

Marco chuckled. "Don't get your hopes up, it's not much of a beach. But there's a shoreline and sea, so I guess it constitutes as a beach no matter how awful it looks."

The promise of the beach seemed to have thrust Jean into a good mood. All thoughts of Marlow, for a while, had disappeared. "Can you swim in the sea?" Jean asked. "Can I take Sina into the sea, she's never been in the sea before... Oh, oh, can we gallop along the beach? Is there enough of a shore for that? Are there a lot of people? Are there dogs?"

Marco held up a hand to silence him, laughing. "W-woah, hold on! Anyone would think you were a kid on an outing!"

"I _am_ a kid on an outing!" Jean protested amid Marco's laughter. He leapt out of his seat and wrapped his arms around Marco's neck, holding on tight as the two of them swayed a little for Marco to catch his balance. "Besides, I _really_ like the idea of making out with you on the sand. _Really_ like it."

Marco blushed furiously, trying his best not to create a picture of it in his mind's eye, but... nope, too late. It was too much of a turn-on to take. "Ugh, you're too hot," Marco complained, tilting his head down to kiss Jean's forehead lightly.

Jean snorted. "Thank... you?"

"Not a compliment. It's a hindrance."

"Psh, you love it."

"You know I do."

Whilst Jean bolted upstairs to get ready (and muttering something about ‘where the everloving fuck are my sunglasses’) Marco went out into the yard to greet Hannes and explain their plans to his mother. Sure enough, Eleanor was stood chatting to Hannes with a beaming grin. Marco realised that his flirt tactics were very similar to his mother’s: smile as big as you possibly can without looking like you want to eat them, then hope for the best. Whatever she was saying was making Hannes laugh at any rate; his full belly chortles were bouncing around the yard just as eagerly as Eleanor’s heels. When he approached, Hannes grinned just as widely for him. “Marco! There ye are. Good to see ye again.”

Marco smiled. “You too, Hannes. How’s business?”

“Booming, would ye believe. The Springers really do have their work cut out lately. Accident-prone bunch. Shouldn’t complain, seeing as they’re giving me work, but Christ what an unlucky family.” He shook his head somewhat sadly. “Anywho, what’re yer plans, a fine day like today?”

“I was going to head to the beach with Jean. He’s not been before, and I think he’s lost ten years in his excitement,” Marco chuckled.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Hannes said, frowning a little, “’cus I was gonna ask ye to give Garrison here a little exercise. He’s not been out much this week, and still feels a bit fresh to me.” He patted the Shire’s hefty side with a paw of a hand. The giant blinked down at him docilely. “But it’s no matter, I can put him in the paddock.”

Marco was then struck with an idea. It raced energy through his veins and began to cause flutters in his stomach. “Actually, I could take him. I-I mean, I could ride him down there and back, that’d be exercise enough, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

Hannes glanced at Eleanor for a moment, who shrugged nonchalantly, and replied, “Well, I guess, so long as your mother’s alright with it. Don’t want to send her boy off on a dangerous animal, do I now?”

The very idea of Garrison being dangerous was laughable, even more so when Marco heard a very obvious guttural snore come from the cart horse. “Honestly, I’d like to.”

Hannes looked at Eleanor again. She gave Marco a fond smile and angled her head up to his level. “Garrison doesn’t have a saddle, remember.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to ride bareback.”

“I know.”

“It’s a long drop if you fall…”

“ _Mum_.”

“He’ll be fine,” she decided, smiling back at Hannes. “He’ll look after Garrison for you, and Garrison will look after him right back. I trust my boys, Hannes.”

“Boys?” Hannes blinked. “Haven’t managed to clone Marco, have ye?”

Eleanor laughed. “No, no, Jean. He’s staying with us over the summer and helping us out, what with Erwin injured.” She leant in closer and stage-whispered, “Marco and he are courting.”

“MUM.” Marco chose that moment to duck past them and attend to Garrison’s harness, flushing bright red as he heard them talk about it.

“Is he now? Well, well, well. Never thought yer boy was into that sorta thing.”

“I didn’t either. Well, I had a hunch, mother’s instinct and all…”

“Is this ‘Jean’ good for ‘im?”

“I think so, yes. You wait til you see him Hannes, my God if I was a few years younger…”

“Mum! I can still hear you!”

“Sorry dear, but you have to admit he _is_ a rather attractive boy.”

“Oh my god, kill me now,” Marco groaned.

“Kill who now? Surely not you, Freckles. You got so much to live for.”

Marco popped his head out around Garrison’s bulk to seek out the voice, and had to stop himself from gawping shamelessly at Jean. Not only was he in green _again_ (Marco swore he did it on purpose) but he had opted to wear black jodhpurs, and the way they clung to his legs was just unfair. And when he walked… _Oh sweet fucking jesus._ Marco could feel the enthusiasm radiating off of Jean in waves as he walked over to him. Marco couldn’t help but grin. Jean nodded politely to Hannes and then let his attention be caught by Garrison. “Holy shit, you’re gonna ride that thing?” he said.

“Such elegant language,” Marco remarked with a grin.

Jean offered him his smirking equivalent. “Shurrup.”

Jean helped Marco unharness Garrison from the cart whilst Eleanor and Hannes got the farrier equipment ready. The Shire didn’t move a muscle, not even when Marco let go of his reins to move a piece of tack out of the way. Hannes had brought along a set of short reins in the back of his cart, and once Marco attached it to Garrison’s bridle the giant gelding was good to go. He was still blinkered, Marco noted, but it wouldn’t cause too much of a problem. He gave Garrison a gentle pat and walked him over to the mounting block, Jean holding onto the goliath’s reins nervously as Marco swung onto his broad back. “He’s, uh, huge,” Jean commented. “You sure you’re gonna be alright?”

Marco smiled. “I’ll be fine. I was riding Shire horses before I was riding hunters, trust me. I’m used to the height. Besides, I like riding bigger horses.”

Jean arched an eyebrow. “You know, I’m sure there’s a pun in there somewhere, but I can’t quite get it out…”

“Shut up!” Marco sniggered, gathering up Garrison’s reins in his hands. “Go and get Sina, or we’ll go without you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Jean tore off across the yard just in case without taking a second look back. Marco tried not to look at his ass in the jodhpurs. He tried _so_ hard. But alas, the flesh was weak…

He didn’t realise how lazily he was smiling at Jean’s retreating back until he heard Hannes comment, “Your boy’s got it bad, hasn’t he?”

Marco whipped his head back to the two adults, feeling the blush spring to his cheeks like it had been waiting for an opportunity. He couldn’t exactly deny it. He _did_ have it bad, so much so that it was glaringly obvious to anyone who saw them. He just hoped that he didn’t look like too much of a love-struck idiot. He just shrugged at them both and shifted his weight slightly when Garrison tossed his head in impatience.

“Of course he does,” Eleanor scoffed, “those two were head over heels for each other the moment Jean got here. I’m not stupid.”

Marco was starting to feel the onset of discomfort when Jean returned astride Sina, the mare shining like bronze in the burning sun. Marco noticed that Jean, too, was riding bareback. Sina skittered a little when she caught sight of the giant she was to walk next to, and Garrison bent his huge head to regard her with gentle curiosity. Jean chortled at them. “I don’t think she’s ever seen a horse as big as him before,” he said. “Aside from Titan, and he’s not got the gigantic head and feet.”

“Oi, don’t go insultin’ my Garrison,” Hannes warned.

Jean coloured considerably. “Sorry.”

Marco chuckled, knowing Hannes was only messing around with Jean, and nudged Garrison’s belly with his heels. The Shire complied obediently. “C’mon, half-pint, let’s get to the beach,” he called to Jean after waving a farewell to his mother and Hannes. He mentally wished that Titan behaved himself when it came to his turn to be shod.

“Wha- half-pint?!”

Marco laughed at Jean’s incredulous reply, and turned Garrison towards the familiar forest paths he always took the intermediate hackers out on. The Shire’s muscles stretched and constricted beneath him like the innermost workings of a clockwork artefact, the feeling strange to sit to for a while, but once he settled into the deep hollow of Garrison’s back it began to resemble a living, breathing armchair. It had been a while since he’d bareback ridden, granted, but it felt more natural than riding with a saddle for some reason. Garrison made it easy. Jean, however, seemed to be having difficulty.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he complained as they pointed the horses up a particularly steep path. Marco turned slightly to see Jean wincing as he pushed Sina on further.

“Having problems?” he asked.

“Fuck off.” Jean stuck his tongue out at him to show he was joking.

Marco chuckled good-naturedly. “Haven’t you ever ridden bareback before?”

Jean tutted. “Of course I have! Just… not Sina.”

“Buchwald?”

Jean frowned. “Yeah… how did you…?”

“Intuition.” Marco raised a brow. “She is a bit slender, isn’t she?”

“Understatement of the century,” Jean winced. Sina’s thin frame meant that her spine was probably pretty bony. Sitting bareback on her clearly wasn’t the comfiest ride in the world. Garrison was ideal due to his broad, barrel-like stomach, but a lithe little eventer like Sina promised agony in all the wrong places. “I should’ve brought a bareback pad of something. Or, you know, used a saddle like a normal person.”

Marco coughed. “And I’m not a normal person?”

“No, you’re some kind of horse god… Epona? Nah, wait, Epona’s a woman… fuck…”

Marco sniggered, steering Garrison up to the top path he’d been aiming for. With a heavy snort the Shire managed it, and Marco let him stop to get his breath back to wait for Jean. Sina took a little longer, mainly because of her dainty hocks and eventing bloodline instructing her not to exert herself too much and partly because Jean kept whining in pain and making her stop with concern. Marco waited patiently, his leg twinging as Garrison’s stomach worked like a bellows to catch the lost breath, and had an idea as Jean finally struggled up to the top of the path. “Does it really hurt that much?” he asked.

“Yes, Marco, it really hurts that much,” Jean muttered, shuffling on Sina’s back and emitting a pained squeak for his effort. “Oh my god, my ass hurts. Bony-ass horse.”

Marco frowned. “You could always… no.” He shook his head. “No, it… it’s stupid…”

“What?”

“I just thought… Garrison can pull a cart, so he’d be perfectly fine with carrying two people…”

Jean stared blankly for a few moments, and Marco thought that he might have suggested something that went too far, in Jean’s book. But then he noticed the dash of pink in Jean’s cheeks. _Oh._ “Y-you wanna share?” he asked.

Marco bit his lip and nodded, moving with Garrison as he shifted his weight. “If you want. You can lead Sina next to us.”

Jean didn’t need to deliberate on the idea for long. He nodded eagerly, his shy smile breaking into an energetic grin. Marco chuckled and walked Garrison a little closer to Sina, sliding himself out of the initial curve of the Shire’s back and offering his hand to Jean as he dismounted. Jean glanced at it for a moment, a shadow of doubt crossing his features. Marco was pretty sure it was because he was daunted by Garrison’s size, and for good reason; the gelding was huge, after all, and could probably crush a skull underfoot if he felt like it. He wiggled his fingers temptingly. “Come on, do you trust me?” he asked, trying to ignore how Disney prince-like it sounded.

Jean smirked, his nerves melting away, and took his hand. “With a face like that, how could I not?”

Marco smiled consciously and with a heave managed to sort of get Jean on Garrison’s back. It wasn’t the most elegant of mounts, it had to be said, with Jean nearly kicking Marco in the face when he was swinging his leg over Garrison’s back, and Marco nearly falling off when Jean lost his balance and fell into him, but eventually they were settled. They were lucky Garrison was so calm; he was almost as docile as Champ was, the bombproof nature essential for his work. Marco shuffled closer to Jean to reach the reins, and the pair seemed to fall together relatively well, even if Jean was all edges and elbows. Once Jean had straightened up and stopped clamping his legs to Garrison’s sides like a paperclip, Marco slipped his arms past Jean’s and took the reins. His arms rested against his waist, and Marco remembered too late that Jean was particularly sensitive there. “Ready?” he asked. He tried not to be pleased when he saw Jean shudder at their close proximity.

“Mmhmm,” Jean said, keeping Sina’s reins clutched tightly in his hands.

Marco smiled, and clicked his tongue encouragingly to Garrison. The Shire let out a snort and set off, his powerful muscles moving once again. Jean tensed again almost immediately, but when Marco assured him that it was fine and that they weren’t going to be going any faster if he didn’t want to, he relaxed again. Sina followed them without hesitation, her ears flicking around with interest at her surroundings whilst keeping an eye on her owner stuck on the great giant of a horse that she fell into step with. The path was shaded by trees, and as they walked under them Garrison and Sina’s outlines appeared dappled in the limited light. Jean was definitely relaxed now, and Marco could feel him leaning slightly further back into him like he was trying to balance himself. It wasn’t unwanted. “You alright in front?” Marco asked, making Jean jump.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, I was a little quiet, huh?”

“A little. And that’s a big deal for a loudmouth like you.”

“Shut up. I was just…” Jean turned his head and Marco saw the curve of a smile on his lips. “appreciating the view.”

Marco chuckled. “Uh huh.”

Jean arched back and took Marco by surprise with a quick kiss. It missed his lips, landing somewhere on his chin, but Marco bloomed with warmth regardless. “This was your plan all along, Bodt. Nice romantic little trail ride, huh?”

“N-no, not at all!” Marco replied, flustered. “You rode Sina without a bareback pad, not me!”

“I like this plan,” Jean sighed contentedly, giving Garrison a hesitant pat as they veered off to the right of the path. “It’s a good plan. Even if this horse is fucking terrifyingly big.”

Marco laughed. “You’ve ridden in regional showjumping competitions, competed against amazing riders, and you are scared of riding a single Shire horse bareback?” he asked teasingly.

“Yes, because he’s fucking huge.”

“You know, I’ve seen Hannes jump him before.”

“…you’re shitting me.”

“No! I swear to God!”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true!”

“Buuuullshiiiiiit.”

Marco then seemed to notice how close the two of their bodies were. The feel of Jean rocking against him with every swaying stride was sending tingled of warmth to his lower body. Jean really was loose with his hips ( _god damnit)_ and the fact that he was practically grinding himself back into Marco’s lap made Marco hate that particular technique of his ( _no not really I love it oh god it feels good fuck)._ He wetted his lips. “Uh, Jean?” he said in a high voice. “C-can you…”

Jean let out a breathless chuckle and leaned a little farther back without replying. Marco realised that Jean was doing it on purpose. His expression soured as he imagined the dry smirk on Jean’s face whilst he was getting more and more uncomfortable. He let out an unimpressed noise when Jean turned to nuzzle against his jaw, muttering a soft, “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it.”

Marco huffed, turning Garrison onto a more downward path. “Don’t go teasing me, or I’ll push you off.”

“Nah, you’re liking it too much.”

“Yeah, someone trying to get me horny when I’m riding a one and a half tonne animal is something I’ve always wanted to experience,” he muttered, his cheeks still flaming under the pressure.

He could hear the grin in Jean’s face when he replied, “Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

“You’re getting worse at lying, you know.”

Jean laughed, but shuffled to form a small gap between them; at least now, the rocks against him weren’t quite so deliberate.

The track they were now on was winding down towards the coast, and the telltale salt was hanging in the air. Garrison’s nose was full of it, and by the way he arched his neck and began to pull against Marco’s hands, it was clear that the Shire was as eager to reach the beach as Jean was. “Are we close?” Jean asked a moment later, leaning forward onto Garrison’s neck with all the eagerness of a child.

“Almost.” Marco grinned and gave Garrison a longer rein, letting the horse push on with a heavy whicker rumbling in his throat. Sina was forced to prance alongside him in a half-trot to keep pace with the gigantic strides he made, and Jean whistled to keep her from falling behind.

The trees finally began to thin out around them, the dark leaves and knotted bark giving way to the open air where the small group was exposed to a gentle breeze and burning sun. Marco ducked his head to avoid being smacked by a low hanging branch and then the trees were gone completely, the dirt path moulding into hastily laid concrete for a car park that was barely ever used. Garrison’s and Sina’s hooves clacked noisily on the surface regardless, but they covered the ground in a matter of strides, and then the only thing in sight was…

“The ocean!” Jean crowed.

Marco smiled, pushing Garrison onto the sand without a moment’s hesitation. The Shire’s hooves sunk into the drier sand immediately, and he began to pick up his feet a little higher to avoid it. Sina, however, needed a little more convincing; a few gentle tugs on the reins from Jean was apparently enough to reassure her that the strange new surface was not as bad as she perceived it to be. Her ears suddenly trained on the large, roiling expanse of water ahead of her, and sand became the least of her worries. Marco waited until they got onto the harder sand to halt Garrison, and when he did the Shire stretched his neck with a grunt and followed the line of the coast curiously. “Here we are,” Marco said. “Jinae’s beach. I told you it’s small, and not many people come here because there’s a bigger and nicer one somewhere further along with a pier and stuff, but…”

“It’s great.” Jean’s voice was full of wonder. He slipped off of Garrison’s back with a groan of effort, and landed a little in front of Sina, spooking her back a little. He chided her and laid a hand on her nose, his eyes still on the crashing ocean. They were wide and wondrous, and Marco really was reminded of a child seeing something for the first time and not quite comprehending how _big_ it was.

He smiled. “Have you not seen a beach before? Because this one’s pretty boring - no donkey rides or anything!” He chuckled. “That’s what I used to do.”

“Surprise, surprise.” Jean’s grin faltered as he thought about it. “I haven’t been to the beach in a while. I only went when I was a kid. With my mother- back when she was still with us. Dad thinks that the beach is something kids grow out of.”

Marco stared down at him, a little nonplussed by his reply. He could practically imagine Jean’s father hammering a ‘no fun’ sign into anywhere or anything Jean liked to do. “W-well we can come down here whenever you like. And because it’s not that popular, we can ride the horses here without having to worry about the usual things like people or cars…”

“Or dogs?” Jean questioned.

Marco bit his lip. “Y-yeah, and dogs.” Garrison tossed his head and laid his ears back, his patience beginning to disappear with every minute spent looking out over the ocean. Marco let out a yelp as his arms were nearly pulled out of their socket. “Alright, alright! Come on, you want to go for a paddle, do you?” Garrison pawed the ground in response, sand flying up from his drum-like hooves. Marco chuckled, and glanced back at Jean. “D-do you mind?”

Jean shook his head. “Nah, I wanna give Sina another go. Go ahead.”

Marco smiled and nudged Garrison forwards with his heels. The gelding needed no encouragement; he sprang into a high stepping trot towards the ocean, head up and ears pricked like he was planning to jump it. Marco grinned and kept his knees pressed into the Shire’s sides to stay balanced. Trotting was a difficult thing to do bareback, and he didn’t want Garrison to bounce him off. The giant horse didn’t even break stride as the first wave of seafoam hit his legs, and Marco let out a breathless laugh as Garrison lowered his head into the froth and sneezed heavily, his entire body twitching with the impact. His trot slowed to a walk after that, and Marco was perfectly happy to give him a long rein as the Shire plodded along the stretch of coast, the seawater swilling around the top of his feather now. Marco gave him a pat for good measure, and leant a hand back on his rump, glancing up at the cloudless sky and relishing the heat. He looked back to the beach when he heard the thrumming of hooves.

Jean was galloping Sina along the stretch of beach, the mare’s ears pitched forward on her slightly dished face. The sand cloud that was being kicked up behind them fell in a dusty halo above the ground as they churned it with their speed. Marco was impressed at just how fast Jean was letting her go; they were at the end of the beach before Marco could call out, and he watched as Jean wheeled the mare around and nearly slipped off as she bolted back, puffing like a steam train. Her coat really was like copper; it glinted like a newly minted coin as she moved, her head rising and falling with every stride. As they got nearer, Marco could see the expression on Jean’s face. There was a sort of manic energy in his eyes, the biggest smirk imaginable on his face, and he even let a barking laugh loose as he tore past Marco. Not for the first time, Marco thought that Jean would make a great jockey. He knew exactly how to find a horse’s hidden gear and use it to his advantage. Marco chuckled and looked down at Garrison. “What do you think, Gar’? You impressed?” The gelding gave a heavy snort. “Didn’t think so. Let’s show them how it’s done, big guy.” He turned the Shire out of the deeper part of the ocean and onto the surf, and with a glance at Jean and a wicked grin, he drove his heels into Garrison’s sides with a loud, “Hah!”

The Shire practically launched off his hind legs, the force of it propelling Marco forwards onto the giant’s shoulders. He righted himself in time to curve into the gelding’s body, and the squirming sensation in his stomach began to ebb away. Thunder really did roll under Garrison’s hooves, and Marco had never sat to such a comfortable gallop before. The muscles arched and shifted beneath him like pistons, and the sheer speed nearly took Marco’s breath away as they surged along the beach, the spray of sea water looking like an extension of Garrison’s feather. They bore down on Jean and Sina quicker than Marco anticipated, though Sina was certainly slowing down, and only got noticed when Jean turned his head to see what was going on behind him. The amber eyes widened. “Marco-!”

Marco let out a loud war cry of 'CHAAARGE' through his laughter as Garrison thundered towards the other horse, his head up and ears flicking back. Jean's eyes got even bigger. He slowed Sina down to better see his oncoming competition, and Marco let another cry ring out as he nudged Garrison on faster, the heavy horse complying with gusto. The look on Jean's face was a picture.

"What the fuck?!" Jean yelped as Garrison missed Sina by inches, Marco cackling as they swept past them in one single motion. "Marco, get back here!" he shouted.

"Nope!" Marco called over his shoulder. "It's our turn to gallop now!" Despite his boast, Marco ended up slowing Garrison down as they reached a slightly rougher outcropping of sand and rocks, the gelding giving out a throaty whinny of frustration at the treatment. Marco reined him back firmly despite Garrison’s willingness to carry on; he was sure Hannes wouldn't appreciate Garrison returning lame. The Shire dropped back to a trot with ease, blowing heavily through his nostrils as Marco turned him back to face Jean with a beaming smile. The other boy hadn't moved a muscle, Sina staring at them with just as much shock as Jean was. Marco tittered and walked Garrison steadily back to them, the gelding's coat becoming slick with sweat now from his tiring gallop. "What's wrong, Jean? Didn't expect a horse that big to move so fast?" he said gleefully, bringing Garrison to a stop beside Sina. The gelding nosed the smaller mare with gentle interest, and Sina let out a small squeal at the treatment.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Jean chided her, "no need for that!" He focused back on Marco once she was still. "You're... you're insane, Marco."

Marco laughed. "That's not very nice."

"N-no, it's not a problem, I mean..." Jean's face softened. "I like it. When you were riding Garrison just now, and you were galloping him past us... you looked like you were having fun, Marco. Real fun. I don't think I've seen you look so..." His face scrunched as he tried to word himself, "...so alive before."

Marco flushed, and took the opportunity to slide off of Garrison's back, almost landing in a heap on the sand. It was true, he felt safe around Garrison; the big horse had been around him longer than Titan, and was so gentle and caring it was impossible to even think of him as dangerous. He laid a hand on the Shire's flank and gave him a distracted pat, his eyes averted from Jean for the moment. "I just know which horses will take care of me, I guess," he said.

"And you're not sure about Titan?"

Marco flinched at the name, and looked back to Jean. He took hold of Garrison's reins and wound them around his hands (ignoring the wailing voice of his mother in his head that instructed him to never under any circumstances do such a thing) and shrugged. "I think I'm getting better. I trust him a lot more now."

"You'll get there." Marco glanced up to see Jean smiling. "I know you will."

After the gallops on the beach, both horses needed breaks to catch their breath needed to trudge back to the stables. Jean tethered Sina to a remarkably heavy piece of driftwood and headed to the ocean himself, rolling his jodhpurs up as best he could. Marco watched from the shore as Jean walked in the surf for a little while, before he seemed to decide that he needed to get cooler and rose his top over his head and onto the sand behind him. His back muscle, slim and wiry, rippled as he stretched, and Marco found it hard to look away. And then, with no warning, Jean ran in deeper and dived, the splash loud enough to alert Sina of her owner’s whereabouts. Marco waited until Jean resurfaced, gasping, before he relaxed again. “Marco!” Jean called out, his shoulders bobbing above the water. “Come in, it’s warm!”

Marco shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

“Marco Bodt, get your freckled ass over here right now!”

Marco shook his head more violently, though he let a smile wriggle free this time. “No, Jean!”

Jean wasn’t going to take no for an answer, apparently, as he strode out of the sea towards him. For a moment, Marco thought that Jean, too, had given up and was going to lie in the sun with him. But then he saw the cunning glint in his eye. His face fell. “Jean…” he tried as the other boy got nearer. “Jean, what are you do- JEAN NO.”

Too late. Jean, with a sudden appearance of strength, had Marco picked up and slung over his shoulder in the blink of an eye. And then he was running towards the sea. “JEAN STOP IT PUT ME DOWN!” Marco yelled, wriggling and squirming in Jean’s grip. Garrison watched the two boys idly, snorting in what looked like resignation as he stood at the water’s edge. Marco’s pleading was falling on deaf ears. “How can you even pick me up, I’m too heavy! No, no don’t please-”

Again, too late. Marco felt Jean’s movements slow as he got into deeper water, and now he had a different plan of attack. Cling. “Marco, leggo!” Jean laughed, staggering back in his efforts to yank Marco free.

Marco tightened his grip on Jean’s neck and shook his head childishly. “Make me!”

Jean let out a largely theatrical sigh. “I suppose you leave me no choice.” For one insane moment, Marco thought he might have won. But then he felt Jean shift. And then they were falling backwards.

“JEAN NO.”

“Timberrrr.”

Marco hit the water spluttering. Jean had been right in saying it was warm, but the salt stung his eyes and made him release his chokehold around Jean’s neck and fight to the surface. He broke the surface with a sharp gasp, the sweet air a blessed relief from the burning in the back of his throat. Jean was already treading water, and was too busy laughing to pay Marco much attention. “Your face… there was so much betrayal… oh my God…” he was managing to splutter out through his laughter.

Marco’s face soured. “I’m glad my fear amused you.”

“Aw no, don’t be like that, come here.”

“No.” Marco tried to paddle away.

“Marcooo.”

“NO.” He paddled away faster.

It didn’t seem to do much good, because in a single stroke Jean had caught up and was wrapping his arms around Marco’s body, nosing his wet shirt-clad shoulder gently. Marco felt a flash of panic as he started to sink, but Jean managed to miraculously keep them both afloat with strong kicks. “I don’t want my boy mad at me,” Jean murmured in Marco’s ear, and that was almost enough to make Marco sink down into the water to hide how bright red he turned.

“I-I’m your boy?” he stammered.

Jean let out a husky chuckle that really did make Marco debate on dunking himself. “Yeah, you are. My gorgeous, patience-of-a-saint boy.” He kissed a spot next to Marco’s ear, and Marco felt everything inside him flare like a beacon. He was pretty sure even his internal organs were blushing by now. “You gonna look at me now?”

“Y-you’re a dork, you know that, don’t you?” Marco muttered, turning in the water to face Jean despite his strawberry appearance.

Jean grinned, brushing free some of the soaking black hair plastered to Marco’s face. “Yep,” he proclaimed. He sounded proud. “Like I’ve said before, it’s entirely your fault.”

Marco huffed and put his hands around Jean’s neck to anchor himself. “My clothes are soaking now. We’re going to regret this riding back.”

“And I rest my case. Dork.”

“Shut up.” Marco glanced back to the beach and chuckled. “We’re bad horse owners.”

“Don’t care.” Jean was too focused on ruffling Marco’s hair to within an inch of its life.

“They look so confused.”

“Let them look.”

“It feels weird.”

“They’re fine, Marco.”

“Sina’s got loose.”

“No she hasn- OH FOR THE LOVE OF-”

And as Jean swam towards the shore, shouting and swearing at Sina as she cantered down the stretch of coast, reins trailing behind her whilst Garrison looked on, Marco thought he’d never felt happier.

* * *

 

The next day saw Marco in an especially good mood. Something had shifted again, and it was as though Marlow had never come. He was still a little shaken when he thought too much about it, but the fear was at least dormant for the moment. Jean was harder to read; he was still drifting, the crease between his brows becoming more defined as the hours wore on, but he also looked up, smiled, hugged, kissed. He wasn’t afraid to touch Marco anymore, and the feeling was mutual. Marco let his mind drift back to the day on the beach when Jean had called him his boy and turned any resolve he had to jelly. Marco smiled down at the leadrope he clutched in his hands, and the urgent tugging at the other end made him look up. Titan was tossing his head impatiently, and looked at Marco in a way that suggested he was saying, ‘why did you catch me from the field if you were just going to stand here smirking at nothing?’ Marco shook himself. “Sorry, Titan, come on,” he muttered, leading the disgruntled gelding back to the stables. He only got a bit of resistance, to his relief.

He’d known the over- 16s were due their lesson shortly (partly because he also knew that meant Jean would be free of teaching duties for a little while and he wanted to make the most of it), but he hadn’t expected Mikasa to be stood waiting for him at the paddock fence. He jumped. “Oh! H-hey,” he called out, smiling at her, but it dropped the moment he saw the look on her face. Her eyes were cold, expressionless, the kind that suggested that Eren was either in or causing trouble, but Marco could see him fussing over Magic in a stable. But still, he knew _that_ look. That look was never good. “What is it?” he said, Titan shifting anxiously beside him.

Mikasa said nothing. She merely took his free hand and pulled him forwards, Marco complying with a squeak of alarm. She dragged him across the yard and towards the tack room, Marco making small noises of irritation as she did so, before she gestured around the corner. Marco frowned, but complied.

And in that moment, however cliché it sounded, everything stood still.

Because Jean was being backed up against the tack room door by none other than Marlow Freudenberg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahaha a cliffhanger I know I'm evil. Don't judge me too much. ;D


	20. The Strength to Break Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update time! :D 
> 
> I'm very evil, I apologise for the insanely big cliffhanger I left you all on last week, but I hope this makes up for it! :) Just in case you've not been following my writing woes on my Tumblr, this is a chapter WITH smut (well written or not remains to be seen) so just so you know! 
> 
> Although it is the sappiest thing I've ever written in the history of ever. I'm actually kinda nervous, I don't write smut all that often and I rarely EVER show it to anyone so I'm gonna sit in a corner and wail for a while after this chapter is posted.
> 
> I think the entirety of this chapter can be summed up with 'JEAN YOU PRECIOUS BABY' but there we go. 
> 
> We see a bit of a scuffle, Marco's mother being herself and, as I said, Jean being a precious baby. 
> 
> Enjoy! And as usual, feedback is so SO SO appreciated. Especially for this. Derp.
> 
> My tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/

Marco was frozen solid. He couldn’t move, even though he wanted to. His muscles were screaming at him, some darker part of himself was ordering him to punch, to kick, to fight. But his body was betraying him. It remained locked in one position, quakes and shivers accosting him so violently he was sure the entire world was shaking along with him. He hadn’t gotten this bad for some time. It had been the first time he’d seen Titan after the accident when it had happened before, the first time he remembered the accident and the screams and the blood. But now it was back, and he could barely breathe.

He wanted to move.

He _had_ to move.

But all he could do was stare, transfixed, as Jean tried to avoid Marlow’s eye.

“You dirty little fuck,” he could hear Marlow spit, fisting his hand in Jean’s shirt and yanking him up to his eye level. Jean was still trying to valiantly keep his eyes on the ground. “Didn’t I tell you that I’m the only one who’d ever put up with you? You really think that that worthless excuse of a person isn’t gonna get bored and leave you? Huh?”

“You’re lying.” Jean’s voice was calm, cold, and for a moment Marco was fooled into thinking Jean had control of the situation. But then he saw the way his hands were shaking. Jean finally let his gaze level with Marlow’s, and Marco saw the intensity dilute a fraction just by staring at him. “Unlike you, he gives a shit about me.”

Marlow laughed. “He what? Don’t make me laugh, who the fuck would give a shit about someone like you? Jean, come on. You know that better than anyone.”

Jean gulped. “I think you should leave now.” His voice was weaker though, quivering, and it made Marlow smirk.

“Not unless you come with me,” was Marlow’s reply.

Jean shook his head, forcing himself out of Marlow’s grip and letting his back slam into the tack room door. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he said. His words were strong, but there was a childlike desperation to his voice, as though he thought if he said it loud enough it would make Marlow disappear.

Unfortunately, that was not going to happen. Marlow’s expression was dark, seething, as he suddenly brought his hand swooping down to land a heavy blow across Jean’s cheek. It was a slap, not a punch, but to Marco that made it ten times worse. His chest constricted painfully. “Yes, you are,” Marlow hissed. Jean’s head was wrenched to one side, but instead of bringing up a hand to cradle his stinging cheek, Jean just let out a sigh. A tired, broken little sigh that said enough. To Jean, it was just part of the routine.

That was what broke Marco out of his paralysis.

“Hey!” he shouted, striding across the yard with Titan trotting next to him to keep up, the giant gelding looking warily down at his owner. Mikasa tried to keep a hold on him, told him to think about what he was doing, but he shrugged her off. He had a sense that Mikasa hadn’t been holding on _that_ hard to him. His voice made Marlow twitch and Jean’s gaze flicker up, but nothing more. Marlow took another step towards Jean. “HEY!” Marco hollered now, breaking into a jog. Titan’s newly shod hooves rang on the concrete. His blood was reaching boiling point, his eyes flashing furiously and his heart racing, and he knew he wouldn’t be in control of his emotions for much longer.

_I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him. How dare he go near Jean, how dare he show his face around here again, how FUCKING dare he._

Finally, Marlow looked around. His expression moulded into one of slightly tired amusement. “Hey, Freckles, what did I tell you? Your little boyfriend can’t keep away from m-”

Marco didn’t let him finish. He just pulled back his fist and punched Marlow clean in the face. Jean gave a breathless little yelp as Marlow went flying from the force of the blow, and Titan skittered nervously on the end of the leadrope away from the violence. Marco threw the horse’s leadrope to Mikasa, who caught it deftly (Marco knew she had been good in gymkhana games for a reason) and stood over Marlow, slightly surprised that he’d managed to hit him at all. He wasn’t a violent person by definition, but something in him had snapped watching Marlow treat Jean the way he had. His breaths were coming short, the sudden burst of adrenaline sending the rest of his body into that primal mode of fight or flight. Marco swallowed painfully.

Like Titan, he should have run.

Like Titan, he was standing and fighting, and possibly getting beaten to a pulp.

Something had snapped, and would stay snapped.

Marlow seemed as surprised as Marco was, and as he rolled onto his side to glance up at them Marco saw blood gushing from his nose. He didn’t need to look long to tell he’d managed (by some mercy of God) to have broken it. His fist was still clenched, his knuckles throbbing with the pain, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping Marlow away, he knew that now, and he shifted to stand between them, shielding Jean to an extent. “I told you,” he said in a barely together voice, “not to come looking for Jean.”

Marlow staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunk for a moment before regaining his balance and giving Marco a dry little smirk through the pain. “Well, you can throw a punch, Freckles, I’ll give you that. Maybe I misjudged you- you’re not like Jean at all.”

Marco was hot-wired to respond, now. “No, I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m not like Jean. But what does that matter?”

“You’re strong,” Marlow hissed, spitting out a gobbet of blood, “stronger than him. You actually managed to hit me, for one thing.”

“Jean’s strong,” Marco spat. “Stronger than you’ll ever be. Now, leave him alone.”

Marlow looked between the two of them, clearly unsure of something. “Is this guy for real, Jean? Or did he walk out of one of those shitty romance films?”

“I said,” Marco snarled, “leave him alone.” He was scaring himself with how cold he seemed.

“I don’t think I will, no.” Marlow smirked dryly. “I hope you’re having fun fucking him, Freckles. He moans like a fucking whore, but he’s not worth half of the time it takes.”

That did it. Before Jean could protest, Marco had grabbed hold of Marlow’s jacket and slammed him against the opposite stable, the horse inside shying to the back. Marlow let out a pained grunt as his back collided with the door, and then Marco was in his face. “You treated Jean like shit from the minute you got with him, didn’t you?” he all but shouted in Marlow’s face. “If I was any sort of person I’d make you feel just how much it hurts to be in his position! I’d kick and punch you to within an inch of your life if I thought it’d make a fucking difference!” He shook Marlow by the edges of his jacket, as though trying to knock some sort of sense into him. But then, he calmed down.

“But I’m not like you. I don’t manipulate people for my own gain. I don’t tell someone he means nothing when he should mean everything in the world to me. I don’t beat the living shit out of someone to prove a point.” He leaned in closer, practically hissing the last three words: “I’m. Not. You.” His grip tightened on Marlow’s jacket, and he gave him an extra slam for good measure. It was a strange kind of pleasure he got from seeing Marlow a little dazed. “Jean doesn’t belong to you. He doesn’t belong to me. He belongs to _himself_ , and he is so much more than how you see him. I’m not scared of you, Marlow: I _pity_ you.”

It was only then that he released him, shoving him back against the stable door with as much force as he could muster, because he knew that this sense of bravado wouldn’t last long and he needed to make the most of it. He didn’t want to look back at Jean or Mikasa, because he knew how intently they’d be staring at him. Instead, he looked to Titan. His horse had thrown his head up, regarding Marco warily with one ear back. He walked over to the fidgety horse, aiming to calm him, when he suddenly heard a rush of footsteps behind him. He whirled around just in time to see Marlow charging towards him and Jean stepping in the way. “Wha-?”

Jean got there first. Marlow’s curse died halfway out of his lips as Jean swung his fist around from nowhere and hit him square in the jaw. Marlow staggered back, a shouted ‘FUCK’ issuing from his mouth whilst Jean glared him down. “Don’t you FUCKING touch him!” he half-snarled, half-screamed, his eyes flashing dangerously through anger and fear and then plain black fury.

Marlow swiped the corner of his mouth and growled at the blood staring back at him. “You’re a class act, you know that?” he spat.

Jean seethed. The fear, for the moment, was forgotten. “I don’t give a shit what you say or do to me, but if you ever go near Marco again I’ll kick your teeth in!”

Marlow stared wildly at him, and Marco had the rising worry that he was going to try to take them both. But before Marlow could even crack his knuckles, the entire population of the yard swarmed them. Eren, Connie and Sasha had rushed over from their lesson and were now stood staring wide-eyed at the scene before them, and Hanji was hanging off of a furious Eleanor’s arm and pointing at Marco. “I bet ten quid he’ll floor the bastard,” Marco heard her mutter.

Eren still had his hat on, and looked as though he’d vaulted off Magic to get to the head of the ruckus, eyes darting from Marlow to Jean to Marco and back again, before letting them settle on Mikasa. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mikasa replied.

“No.”

“Marlow came back to give Jean more hassle and slapped him, so Marco stepped in and told him to leave Jean alone, he punched Marlow, Marlow went to punch him but was blocked by Jean and punched again, and now he’s stupidly thinking about fighting them.” Mikasa tilted her head to the side, and Marco saw that she was smiling thinly at the cursing Marlow. “Did I get it right, asshole?” All Marlow gave her in return was a glare.

“Oh.” Eren paused. Then he took his helmet off. “I guess if it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’ll get. He disturbed my lesson, I’m pretty pissed.”

“And who the hell picks a fight with _Marco_ , of all people?” Connie piped up. “I mean, the guy wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Marco felt rather than saw the knowing grin on Mikasa’s face.

“And I mean, c’mon, even _Jean_ doesn’t deserve a smack in the face. From anyone but me.”

“Gee, thanks Jaeger.”

Marlow was starting to look cornered. Very, very cornered. His eyes darted from one face to the next, looking for a way out. When he found nothing, his gaze landed on Eleanor. His eyes, the Marco’s immense satisfaction, widened. He knew exactly what he was thinking. Eleanor’s eyebrow arched. “Didn’t I tell you the next time you came here I’d be gaining a very small pair of balls?” she demanded, folding her arms against her chest.

Marlow tried to glare but failed. “Jean wanted to see me,” he said, casting Jean a warning look.

Jean blanched. When Eleanor’s eyes fell on him, he swallowed painfully. “Jean, is this true?” she asked, her brows creasing in a very Marco-like fashion as she watched him.

Marco waited. Jean was silent. He looked torn, biting his lip as he looked over his shoulder at Marco, and Marco felt a twist in his stomach. Jean was still scared, he was terrified of what Marlow could do, even now, but he wanted to be brave. Marco could see it. Their eyes met, and he gave a tiny, barely noticeable nod. Jean sucked in a shaky breath and turned back to Eleanor. “No,” he said in a small voice. “No, I didn’t. He came looking for me, and… and I don’t want him here.”

Marlow looked furiously at Jean, but Jean wasn’t looking at him. He was looking straight at Eleanor, without an inch of doubt in his eyes. Marco stupidly felt a swelling of pride for him; standing up to Marlow, for Jean, was a massive leap. His mother seemed satisfied too, for she nodded curtly and fixed Marlow with a glacial stare. “Consider the police called,” she said, “And don’t think I’ll forget that promise of mine. I’ve helped geld many a colt before, _boy_ , and it can’t be much different for a stack of shit like you.”

Marlow, to Marco’s satisfaction, paled. “I could get you arrested for threatening me,” he growled, though it was a weak insult. The way the over-16s stepped forward made it clear that they would sooner kill him than let him do anything of the sort.

Eleanor chuckled. “And as I said before, hot shot, private property. I’m within my rights, and I _am_ going to be calling the police.” She wiggled her fingers mockingly at him. “Buh-bye now.”

Marlow finally seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to win. He shot Marco a look of utter loathing before Eleanor clicked her tongue, encouraging him to get moving, and he muttered savagely, “This is not over. You’ll see.” With a final glance at Jean, lip curled with distaste, Marlow turned on his heel and strode away, humbled and hating himself for it.

Finally, Marco could relax. He dropped the façade and almost felt his legs go weak. “Oh my… God, I hit him didn’t I?” he asked numbly as the crowd slowly began to part, his mother talking animatedly to Hanji about the more traditional methods of gelding whilst pulling her mobile out of her pocket.

“You did a bit, yeah.” Mikasa patted him on the back.

“Wait, wait, wait. _Marco_ punched _Marlow_?” Connie asked, face scrunched up as though he couldn’t quite process it.

Mikasa nodded. “Quite a nice right hook too. I don’t think Marlow knew what hit him.”

Marco put his head in his hands. _Oh God, what had he done? This wasn’t going to help at all, it was just going to make Marlow mad and oh no what if he came back but with reinforcements Marco couldn’t take on more than one guy he barely took on Marlow_ \- he remembered to breathe.

“Huh. Whaddaya know, Marco Bodt’s a secret badass,” Sasha quipped, leaning on Connie’s shoulder playfully. “Good on you, that guy deserves everything that’s coming to him.” She winked.

“And more,” Eren agreed. “Looks like a right prick, if ever I saw one.”

“That sounded gay as hell.”

“Fuck off, Connie.”

“U-uh, thanks, I guess,” Marco said. He then let his gaze land on Jean, and something inside squirmed uncomfortably.

Jean had a strange look on his face. He looked… almost faint, but it was also like he was seeing something in another light. Marco was suddenly filled with horror when he thought that maybe seeing him punch Marlow had made Jean think that Marco was secretly violent and he didn’t want him to think that, not at all. He couldn’t tell if it was a _bad_ look or not. That was what prompted him to ask hesitantly, “J-Jean? Are you okay?”

Jean’s eyes darted to Marco’s, and he gulped. They were burning again, but with what Marco couldn’t pinpoint. Jean wetted his lips, took a deep breath, and blurted out in a single, very faint rush, “Iloveyou.”

Marco blinked, wrong-footed. “S-sorry, what?”

Jean sighed. “I…” he said with trembling words, “I love you.”

And then Marco was being enveloped in a hug so tight he felt his bones creak. He nearly fell over backwards with the force of it; it was like being hit with a whirlwind, and Jean was at its core, and shaking so badly Marco wasn’t sure whether the ground was in fact moving. But he clutched right back at him, steadying him, making him safe, and as he moved to lay his chin on Jean's shoulder, his face was grabbed by Jean in both hands and pulled down to his level, his shaky lips clamping on tight and refusing to let go. It was as though Jean was terrified that Marco was going to leave, and that he needed to do anything, everything to convince himself that that was not going to happen. Every touch, every grab, every shudder was to make sure he wasn't going to be left on his own, and Marco knew the signs- he knew Jean well enough by now. He kissed him back carefully, trying to calm down the fervour that was clearly raging in the aftermath of Jean's fear, using his lips to calm him if nothing else. He could hear Jean whispering in every stray breath he could snatch, 'I love you', 'thank you', and at one point he even heard the fatal 'baby' uttered under his breath. Jean seemed determined to print those words onto his lips, planting the hasty, rushed kisses all across his face. Marco just chuckled and held him close, sinking back into the familiar thought that Marlow was not going to be bothering them for a while. That they were safe, that Jean was safe. And, more importantly, Jean was happy.

But then he remembered that not everyone had disappeared.

Eyes popping, he pulled away with a wide-eyed look at the rather stunned group of over-16s. Eren had already turned to head back to the arena, and Mikasa had followed suit to make sure he didn't decide to go gunning Marlow down, having handed Titan to an enthusiastic Hanji to put away, but Sasha and Connie were stood gawping at them like visitors to a zoo. Marco was pretty sure his head was going to internally combust if it got much hotter than it already was, whilst Jean simply buried his head in Marco's chest.

_Hiding isn't going to make them stop gawping and being awkward oh god this was not how I imagined the others finding out for the love of-_

"Soooo..." Sasha stressed the 'o' for as long as she dared. She paused. "Er, you two are, uh... yeah?"

Marco nodded meekly. "Pretty much."

"Well, uh, that's, um... interesting," Connie replied. Sasha rolled her eyes, and gave him a look as if to say 'yes, yes, thank you for your input'.

"Were you gonna tell us, Marco?" Sasha asked. She looked a little hurt.

"I was!" he said immediately. "I was, I swear, I'm sorry, there just wasn't a good time."

Connie was still staring bug-eyed at Jean. "Seriously man, I knew you put your cakes in the wheelie bin but I didn't think Marco did."

Jean frowned and buried his head into Marco's chest further, a small sigh escaping from him. Marco, on the other hand, looked blankly at Connie. "What sort of euphemism is that?"

Connie shrugged. "My grandmother likes to dance around the point sometimes. Couldn’t bear the thought of saying the word ‘gay’.”  

Marco felt Jean squeeze him around the middle and looked back down at him. "Hey," he cooed, letting a hand rest on the top of Jean's head. "You okay?" He started making small whorl patterns against Jean's scalp and making his shoulders draw up at the feeling. "You don't have to be embarrassed, you know."

“Well, you do, you’re cute as shit.”

“FUCK OFF.”

“Alright, alright, off we fuck,” Sasha sighed theatrically, and with an insistent tug at Connie’s sleeve they were off, heading back to the main courtyard to find their horses for the lesson. Finally, Jean and Marco were alone, save for a few inquisitive horse heads peeking over their doors.

"I do have to be embarrassed," Jean mumbled.

Marco laughed, turning his attention solely to Jean. "Why?"

"Cus I said that I loved you like I was in a fucking eighties romcom."

Marco chuckled, continuing to rake his hands through Jean's hair. Its unruliness was something he really loved about it; it would need little opportunity to break free of its usual styled self, and Marco couldn't help the way his stomach jolted whenever he saw Jean with messy hair. "And who said that there was a problem with you saying that you love me, hmm?" he asked.

"Cus it's sappy."

"Well," Marco said, a little nervously as he brought Jean's face up to meet his own, "what if I said that I loved you too? Would that help the embarrassment a little?"

Jean looked like someone had offered him an entire country for free. He looked awed, happy, a little sick and above all, the pinkness to his cheeks had returned. He swallowed dryly. "Uh, er, w-well a little," he admitted quietly.

"What would make it go completely?" Marco asked, smiling as he lowered his head to give Jean a small kiss on the lips. "Any ideas?"

"Mmm, I have a few." Jean smiled wildly and pressed his lips to the base of Marco's throat, the shakes in his body gone now. Marco just smiled and let Jean kiss, hug, whisper any little nothing he felt like to him. Because Jean had told Marco he loved him, and Marco had said he loved him back. And that was the first time, since they had gotten together, that they had admitted it so openly and honestly.

And it had to be after mutually hitting Jean's ex and being silently judged by Connie and Sasha.

Marco guessed he couldn't have had it perfect.

* * *

That night, Eleanor had arranged to go out with a group of her friends (Hannes and Erwin included, to Marco's amusement) to a few bars in the next town over from Jinae. It was no Trost, Marco knew that much, but his mother enjoyed her time there and she deserved some time to herself every now and again. It did mean, however, that he and Jean had the house to themselves all night, and the thought of what they could potentially get up to during that time made Marco's stomach spike in a peculiar way. After all, when Eleanor had finished packing an overnight bag she turned to him and said, in a voice sweeter than honey, "And just think, Marco, when the cat's away the mice can do whatever they want so long as it's legal." The wink at the end had clinched it for Marco: he had the worst mother in existence. Ever.

After the last lessons were dealt with and Hanji helped with the evening feed, Marco realised that Jean had vanished an hour ago after finishing up with grooming Pegasus and Jester. With a small frown he dismissed his worries, sure that Jean was just tired and had gone into the house a little earlier than normal. _Still_ , Marco mused as he finished tipping the rest of Champ's veteran feed into his bucket and mixing with a grunt of effort, _Jean usually comes to see me after he's finished up. So what is he doing now?_ Jean hadn’t said anything, hadn’t promised anything, but there was a tension between them now that crackled through the air like rogue lightning. It reminded Marco of the feeling he’d had before they’d got together, but it was… stronger somehow.

He fed Champ the molasses-stinking feed and made his way back to the house, tired, concerned for Jean, and also hungry.

Very, very hungry.

Stomach-digesting-itself hungry.

Realising that that was the easiest thing to combat first, he closed the door to and wandered to the kitchen, letting out a large yawn in the process. _Maybe sleeping was also a good plan... adrenaline rushes really took it out of you..._

Marco paused at the door to the kitchen, a frown appearing on his face. Not only was the door shut (a rare occurrence in the house) but there was music blaring in the room beyond that sounded distinctly like Bon Jovi and Deff Leppard had had some sort of bastard child, and a strange, slightly acrid smoke was coiling under the door. Marco frowned even more. “Jean?” he questioned, putting a hand to the woodwork.

“Don’t come in!” was the panicked reply.

Marco froze. “Jean, is everything okay in there?”

“Y-yeah, everything’s fi-” _Thunk._ “Fuck it to hell!” More smoke.

“Jean, are you setting the kitchen on fire?!”

“Not intentionally!”

Marco gave the door an experimental tap. “Jean, let me in,” he said, trying not to laugh as Jean sputtered and whined from the other side.

There was another clatter, a wail of ‘for the love of fuck’ and a heavy sigh before Jean called out morosely, “Fine, fine, come in.”

Marco opened the door to a sight of chaos. It looked as though every single cupboard of the kitchen had given birth to its contents, with various tins and packets and cartons spilling out onto the table tops. Pots and pans were also among them, awaiting their fate, and as Marco’s gaze drifted down he noticed that some sort of red sauce was splattered on the floor. Beside it lay a few discarded eggshells and tomato stems, and Marco saw that the source of the smoke was his tired old hob that looked like it was trying to belch out SOS signals. And in the midst of the kitchen hurricane was Jean, with his back to Marco hissing curses to the contents of his mixing bowl. His hair was stuck up on end from how many times he’d run his hands through it in agitation, and Marco could see how the back of his neck was flushed with both stress and embarrassment. Marco’s chuckle made Jean straighten up. “So, why are you killing my kitchen?” he asked, slumping against the doorframe with a tired smile.

Jean didn’t turn around. “Sounds stupid if I say it,” he mumbled grouchily. Marco noticed Jean glance over his shoulder at him before resuming his furious beating of whatever was in the mixing bowl. _So subtle_ , Marco thought with a grin. _Bless._

“It’s stupider if you don’t, and I still think your aim in life is to kill my kitchen,” he pointed out.

Jean stopped mixing. It seemed Marco’s strange logic made sense to him, somehow. “I was trying to make us dinner,” he said eventually, still refusing to look around.

Marco blinked. “Y-you’re making us dinner?” he asked dumbly. He hadn’t been expecting that- he’d assumed they would just order in takeaway or root around for something in the freezer. The fact that Jean wanted to go out of his way to cook for them… well, that was just plain adorable was what it was.

Jean nodded stiffly. “I only just realised how much I fucking suck at cooking though,” he complained.

Marco pushed off the doorway and walked over to Jean, narrowly missing the spilt sauce in the process. When he reached him, he wrapped his arms around Jean’s middle and squeezed, a startled squeak coming from the other boy in response. “You were doing all this for me?” Marco asked, smiling at the way Jean turned red.

“W-well also me, I’m hungry too,” Jean stuttered, avoiding Marco’s eye to sae himself further embarrassment. Unfortunately, it meant his gaze landed in the bowl, and Marco saw his nose wrinkle in distaste. “But not even a starving tramp would eat this,” he commented.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Jean! I’m sure it’s going just fine.” Marco peered down at the bowl. His face fell. “Woah, I take it back. How did you even manage to curdle _butter and flour_?”

“Shut up!” Jean flushed.

“What were you even trying to make?” Marco asked, resting his head on Jean’s shoulder and stepping a little closer, pushing his body just that little bit further against Jean’s. He felt Jean give a sharp intake of breath and bit his lip with a small chuckle. He couldn’t help but tease Jean a little; he deserved it from the bareback riding escapade the day before. He also blamed his hormones- his hormones and Jean’s adorable awkwardness.

“T-this French thing Bastien makes sometimes,” Jean replied, finally turning around to look at Marco. There was something in his eyes that made Marco’s stomach churn in a completely pleasant way. Maybe it wasn’t just _his_ hormones that were currently going haywire. “But it, er, didn’t work.” Marco also noticed that there was a bit of flour on Jean’s nose, and he brushed it off as gently as he could despite Jean’s protests.

Marco grinned and perched his hands on Jean’s hips, laughing as Jean twitched. “That’s alright, we can always make something else. We must have something left… come on, let’s tidy up.”

The clean-up mission took some time, despite how small Marco’s kitchen was. Jean had really gone to town on it, and there were even some things split that had nothing to do with what he’d been trying to cook. Jean’s adventurous nature meant that the majority of ingredients needed for anything else were all but used up, and most of the flour was smeared over Jean’s face by the end (that may or may not have been Marco’s fault. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.) By the time they were finished the kitchen was sparkling, though the boys themselves looked a little worse for wear. This was why, hours later than they’d anticipated, Jean and Marco were sat together on Marco’s sofa eating a gigantic amount of scrambled egg from a mixing bowl. Jean had gone to buy eggs for his recipe, and had the choice of half a dozen or two dozen. To cover himself, he’d brought twenty four eggs back with him, and Marco figured they had to eat them somehow.

“We suck at domestics,” Jean remarked as he passed the bowl to Marco.

Marco scoffed. “Excuse you, I’m not that bad! But you…” he squinted at Jean. “You’d be an awful wife.”

“Oi.” Jean scowled and flicked a piece of scrambled egg at him. It narrowly missed getting tangled in his hair. “I’d be a fucking fantastic wife, Marco Bodt, and don’t you deny it!”

Marco chuckled. “Would you now? Does that make me the husband?”

Jean snorted. “Psh naw, I can’t see _you_ handling taxes.”

Marco gave him a playful shove before offering him the bowl to compensate. “Maybe we’d both just be terrible wives, then.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jean took another mouthful of scrambled egg without hesitation. “Hey… Marco?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you really… mean what you said before?”

Marco raised a brow. “What part?”

“The part when you said… that you loved me too?”

Marco stared at him for a long while. “I’m sort of hurt that you have to ask,” he said, spearing some egg on the end of his fork. “I’ve loved you for a while.” He was surprised at how easily it came out. It didn’t even tumble out awkwardly, full of blushes and stuttering- it just fell from his mouth like water, calm and flowing.

“Since when?” Jean asked.

Marco raised an eyebrow at him. Jean really needed specifics to feel comfortable. “I dunno, probably… probably that night we were at the pub and you were drunk and swaying and spewing all sorts of nonsense. I just… I just knew.” He shrugged. The awkwardness was starting to drift back; after all, he had harboured his feelings for longer than he imagined Jean had. “It hurt for a while, because you were with Marlow and I didn’t want to disrupt that, but… I couldn’t help it.”

Jean had been halfway through sticking his fork in his mouth, and now it hung suspended from it as he frowned at Marco. It was sort of endearing to see. “You loved me way back then?” he mumbled around the metal.

Marco shrugged, looking down at his sleeves and picking at one of the loose threads. “I guess I just fall in deep. Even if I can’t cope with it, it just seems the way it is.”

He was too focused on his fraying sleeve to notice Jean place the bowl of scrambled egg on the floor. He was also too focused on his fraying sleeve to hear Jean shuffle a little closer. But when he looked up and saw that Jean’s nose was tickling the side of his cheek, he immediately ran out of words. He should have been used to it by now; surely everyone who’d been in a relationship for longer than a week had stopped losing breath over their partner… _surely?_ But not Marco. All he could do was stare at Jean, stare at the way his eyes darkened just a little bit more than usual and the small trace of a tongue that poked out from behind his lips to wet them nervously. “I’m sorry…” Jean said in a voice that was barely audible, a hand reaching out to bravely tuck a small chunk of hair behind Marco’s ear.

“What’re you sorry fo-”

“I’m sorry that I made you wait.” Jean’s eyes wandered down to Marco’s lips, the heavily pregnant pause that rested between them soon filling with something unresolved and primal that made Marco gulp. And then Jean leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, nothing more than a shadow compared to what Marco was used to, but then Jean shifted his entire body closer, and something changed. Marco brought his hand up to cup the back of Jean’s head as he pulled him in, moulding their lips together in a kiss that was far more physical, and far more honest. Marco wasn’t good with words. He knew that. He thought that maybe, somehow, his actions spoke far more eloquently, but he found his lips mumbling just as incoherently as his voice whilst Jean just took it in his stride, his tongue daring to dart out and swipe against the bottom of Marco’s lip. Marco welcomed it with a sigh, his fingers creasing into the beginnings of ash blonde that were tickling them so insistently. Jean had a better memory than anyone gave him credit for; the moment Marco wished that Jean would do what he had done before and start to suckle on his lip, Jean did just that, and it was enough to force a muffled murmur of appreciation out of Marco, and a smug chuckle from Jean. Marco gave him a weak smack with his free hand, but it barely brushed him.

He wasn’t sure how they’d managed to move, but when he pulled away for air he realised that Jean was in his lap, and he was almost reclining on the sofa. He chuckled consciously and leant back in for a less firm kiss, breaking it quickly to bury his face in the line of Jean’s jaw, peppering kisses along an area he knew turned Jean to absolute gloop. His suspicions were affirmed when he felt Jean sink against him with a soft moan, tilting his head to give him more room, and he swore that the single noise shot a wake-up call straight to his dick. It didn’t help that Jean moved so that he was full-on straddling him, neither did it help that Jean was rocking himself against Marco’s groin. Nope. Not at all.

But Marco didn’t care- not at that moment, not that snippet in time when it was just them, and no one else to bother them. His kisses strayed down to the base of Jean’s throat, a hand coming up to drag the collar of his shirt down to expose his collarbones. They were subjected to a similar treatment, with Marco suckling at the edge of one of them just because he couldn’t help himself. Jean threw his head back and gave a strangled, “A-ah!”, and Marco could have whimpered right there and then at how near-pornographic that noise was to his ears. Jean’s legs seemed to tighten around him, and _yep that was definitely a hard-on, not mistaking that._ He blushed deeply and hid his face against Jean’s chest, the tension in his body threatening to fill him up and overspill. He heard a husky bout of laughter and peeked up at a smiling Jean. “Heeey, whatcha doing, baby?” he asked.

“N-nothing…” Marco pulled away, feeling even more embarrassed now. “Just… I love you. Okay?”

Jean’s smile widened. “I know.” He leaned down and caught Marco’s lips with his own. “I love you too…” He ruffled a hand through Marco’s hair before kissing him again, his tongue rolling against Marco’s for a split second before Marco’s moan seemed to send it retreating back. Jean rocked his hips against him again, and this time Marco arched right back against him, a hand grabbing at Jean’s hip to keep him close and that beautiful friction even closer. Jean broke the kiss a moment later but kept his forehead resting on Marco’s, his breath laboured as he tried to regain air. “Can we go to bed?” he murmured against Marco’s lips, his mouth stealing the air Marco tried to gulp in.

Marco felt a jolt of fear ride through him, and kept his grip tight on Jean’s hip. “A-are you sure?” he asked. Jean didn’t even dignify it with a scoff; he merely nodded and nudged his lips against Marco’s without kissing him. “I’m not going to be very good,” he said weakly, though he nuzzled his forehead against Jean’s as he spoke. He didn’t want to talk himself out of this, and Jean knew it.

“Don’t care.” Jean kissed the corner of Marco’s mouth daintily. “Can we?”

Marco didn’t pause for long, nodding slowly as he returned the kiss gently. “Yeah, we… we can go to bed,” he said softly. Jean gave him a grin and a kiss before releasing him and scrambling up from his place on the sofa, Marco following suit. He managed to feel both eager and reluctant as Jean took his hand and led him up the stairs, and he swore he felt something inside him tumble-turn and remain tumble-turned.

Jean took them to Marco’s room, and Marco barely had the door shut before Jean was against him again, kissing and sucking on every available patch of skin Marco yielded to him. The fear spiked in Marco’s chest again as Jean began to run his hands up his shirt, plucking at the material idly as he did so. “Can I-?” he asked, and Marco bit his lip. He nodded. Jean smiled, stepping into his space and planting a soft, delicate kiss on his lips as his hands slipped underneath the fabric of Marco’s shirt, coaxing the muscles underneath to constrict on contact. Marco shuddered at the feeling, but it was a good shudder- the kind that made you wish it would happen again. He pressed his body against those roving hands, stepping into them and urging them on, a broken moan coming from his mouth as Jean broke the kiss to suck at a point on his neck. “Mmph, Jean…” he sighed, letting himself be pushed back onto the bed as Jean scrambled on top of him, their hips slotting together again in a moment of beautiful friction. Marco’s body jerked of its own accord, and when Jean moved away from his neck there was a satisfied smile on his face. “Wh-what?” Marco asked.

“Nothing. Someone’s just gonna have a hickey tomorrow, is all.”

“J-Jean!” Marco clapped a hand to his neck, his face turning red. “My mum might see it!”

“Please don’t talk about your mother at a time like this,” Jean said, draping his arms over Marco’s neck.

“…Fair point.” Marco smothered Jean’s dry chuckles with his lips, and shuffled so that he was lying down, pulling Jean down with him. Jean’s taste was assaulting his tongue and Jean’s smell was filling his nose, and he was so caught up in his general state of _Jean-ness_ that he was bold enough to slip a hand down Jean’s spine and grab at his ass. Just a little bit. But it was enough to make Jean rock against him with a barely concealed ‘ _fuck, Marco’_ and Marco was pretty sure he lost most of his inhibitions after that. He needed more. He needed to be closer, somehow. He wriggled out of his shirt in a heartbeat and flung it somewhere out of sight, and gave Jean a quick, conscious kiss before Jean pulled away and splayed a hand against his chest. “Jean…?”

“Stay there a minute,” Jean said softly, and sat up to straddle Marco properly. He gave him a smile. “God, Marco, you’re gorgeous.”

Marco turned his head to the side, a blush springing to his cheeks. “Don’t say that…”

“Don’t you remember? I don’t lie anymore. You are.”

Marco let out a small huff, and tugged at the bottom of Jean’s shirt timidly.

Jean grinned. “Oh? You want this off?”

Marco nodded soundlessly. _Yes, yes, please, yes._

Jean peeled his shirt off his body, arching ever so slightly as he did so and sending another jolt to Marco’s system, but when he threw it aside..

_CRASH._

“What was that?!” Jean yelped, and suddenly he was clinging to Marco like a scared child, eyes wide and darting about the room. The cocky, sexy Jean was gone in an instant.

“I-it was probably just my lamp, don’t worry,” Marco soothed, running a hand through Jean’s hair as he skimmed his other hand down the back muscles he didn’t get the opportunity to touch very often. He tried not to laugh in case it ruined the mood, but his stomach quaked with how much it was trying to keep it in.

Jean’s face soured. “A-are you fucking _laughing_ at me?!” he cried.

“N-no…”

“Liar, you fucking are!”

“I’m s-sorry Jean, I can’t help it!”

Jean huffed. He pounced on Marco, knocking him back against the bed again as his hands reached down to the zipper of his jeans. Marco watched, half frozen with self-consciousness, as Jean rid him of his jeans remarkably quickly, to his horror. All of a sudden, nothing was very funny at all. “J-Jean!” Marco tried to curl away from him, his mind immediately falling on his leg.

“What?”

“M-my…” Marco shut his eyes and opened them after a fraction of a second, biting his lip as Jean’s gaze wandered down to his leg. The operation to fix the metal to his leg had left a long, curved, ugly scar down the side of his calf that Marco tried to ignore every time he looked down, and he didn’t want Jean seeing it now. Not when everything was going so well.

Jean’s eyes were on it for a moment, before they flickered back to his face. He smiled. “As if I’d care,” he said softly, and then he was kissing him again, his hands everywhere as though he was trying to commit every curve and ridge of Marco’s body to memory. Their kisses were hungry, laden with something Marco wasn’t sure he could pinpoint, but he let it run away with him, let himself be swept up in it all as Jean’s tongue pressed against his, challenging him.

Marco could feel the cold silver of Jean’s nipple piercing becoming warmer between their skin, and it was that that made him slowly roll Jean onto his back so he could investigate further. Jean frowned a little at the change, and peered at him with suspicion. “What’re you- ahn!” Jean’s hand descended on the top of his head when he ducked down to flatten his tongue against the piercing, letting his tongue flick against the metal after a moment before glancing up at Jean’s face. It was full of pure unadulterated lust, and it twisted Marco’s stomach to think that he was the one responsible for making Jean so undone. His body seemed to arch into Marco’s touch, and after toying with the piercing he moved on to planting heavy, sloppy kisses anywhere he could manage, the lower he was getting earning the most rewarding sounds from Jean. He was still scared, and was so unsure of what he was doing he felt like asking Jean every five minutes if what he was doing was right, if this was what Jean wanted or liked, but the way Jean looked at him, almost pleadingly, answered his worries for him.

It was only when Marco reached the edge of Jean’s trousers that he drew away, a little embarrassed. The two shared a look, both completely and utterly red-faced, until Jean said, “Marco, I need you.” It wasn’t a beg, or a command, or even a shy mumble. It was just a statement, stark and honest, and it made Marco gulp. “I can… I can bottom, if you like, I mean… it hurts your first time and I’m used to it so…” Jean shrugged, trying to be noncommittal but his eyes saying something completely different.

Marco nodded shakily, scooting up Jean’s body as Jean fumbled to undo his trousers, kicking them off clumsily. “Do you have any c-condoms or?”  Marco found himself asking. He cringed almost instantly.

_Yeah like that’s a sexy thing to say. We’re about to have sex, do you have those things that makes sure neither of us get a weird disease? Yeah, right mood-setter Bodt, thanks for your input._

He got one thrown at him from Jean’s trouser pocket, and he stared blankly at him. “What?” Jean prompted.

“You had this in your pocket?”

“You never know when you’re gonna get lucky,” was Jean’s hasty retort. But then Marco spotted him pull out a small bottle of something.

“Oh my god, you _prepared_ for this didn’t you?” he said.

“S-shut up!” Jean replied, kicking his boxers free. “I’ll deny anything! Everything!”

“So _that’s_ why you were trying to cook me something…”

“Marco, no, it’s not like that-”

“You thought it’d get you laid,” Marco grinned as he wriggled free of his own boxers, not feeling quite so conscious now Jean was undressing too. That really did make more sense, seeing as Jean had never shown interest in cooking at any other point.

Jean was blushing heavily now, standing at the edge of Marco’s bed with his teeth grazing his lip. Marco rolled onto his side and let himself look, even though he was probably blushing just as much as Jean was. He couldn’t deny that he’d wanted to see Jean naked for a while, but nothing really came close to how he _actually_ looked. He was equal parts muscle, equal parts angle, and now the bruises had all but faded his skin was almost flawless. When Jean made no move to approach him again, Marco let a frown cross his face. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

Jean blinked. “Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” he snorted, bringing a hand up to cover his face. “I can’t believe this, I’m fucking nervous, and I don’t even know why.” He looked a little awkward about it, like he didn’t have the right to be nervous. That was a feeling left over from his time with Marlow, he was sure of it. Marco tried not to imagine Jean and Marlow together, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t exactly have been tender. Jean hadn’t been with anyone else, so who was he to know what to do? Marlow was the same person who had hit him, who had told him he wasn’t good enough…

That was what caused him to reach out and take Jean’s hand tentatively. Jean’s eyes flew to it.

“Jean, it’s okay to be nervous.” Marco chuckled. “Think how nervous _I_ am. And honestly, how bad can you mess it up? I won’t have anything to compare it to anyway.”

Jean smiled a little bashfully given the colour of his cheeks, and he shook his head. “See, _that’s_ why I’m nervous, cus you’re fucking beautiful.”

Marco felt a shock ride through his system at that- he’d never been called _beautiful_ before- but offered Jean a warm smile and pulled him closer. “Come on, it’s okay,” he said, though he had lost track of when he had become the comforting one and Jean had become so coy, “like I said before, just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

Jean was back on the bed in an instant, and trailing his hands through Marco’s hair with a hazy expression on his face. Marco knew he’d said the right thing. He kissed him on the nose gently, soothingly, and only backed off when Jean rolled onto his back and grabbed for the small bottle he’d left beside them.

“I haven’t done this in a while… b-but I know I’ll have to stretch myself, s-so… bear with me…” Jean mumbled. He uncapped the lube with shaking fingers, and Marco edged closer to plant a small kiss on his shoulder reassuringly. Marco wasn’t sure if he should watch, his own bashfulness kicking in as Jean’s slicked fingers slid between his legs, but he had to admit that the way Jean let out a sharp, keening whine after adding a second finger did drive him to distraction. Jean’s free hand reached for him, and Marco shuffled closer, pressing his forehead against Jean’s and swallowing every shaky pant Jean mouthed against his neck. And then, suddenly, Jean’s fingers curled, and Jean let out a string of curses as his back arched. Marco wasn’t innocent enough to know that Jean had managed to find his sensitive spot.

“G-God Jean, you sounded so amazing just then,” he breathed, and that was enough for Jean to pull his face closer by his hair to kiss him, open-mouthed and panting, and Marco vowed to hear Jean curse like that again.

Jean curled his fingers one last time, a shaky moan disappearing into the air above them, before his tightly scrunched eyes opened to stare directly at Marco. If Jean’s eyes had ever burned before, they were a roaring inferno at that moment. “I-I think I’m good,” he said, a smile flitting across his face.

Marco felt that familiar twist of nerves in the very pit of his stomach, but it was quickly usurped by the heat pooling there too. He let out a shaky breath and sat up, grabbing for the silver packet and the discarded lube bottle after Jean’s insistence that he was going ‘nowhere near my ass without it’. _This was happening. This was really happening, oh God, what if he messed it up? What if he got it wrong, what if he was awful, what if, what if, what if._ He tried to ignore it all as he rolled the condom on and took care to put on as much of the clear liquid as he could, biting his thumb as he dared to give himself an experimental stroke. Jean let out a whine. “M-Marco, please,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows to watch him, “d-don’t tease me, please, just... please.” Jean’s pleading was almost too much for Marco; his words went straight south and Marco swore he felt himself _twitch_ at hearing it. If he could, he’d listen to Jean beg and plead for hours, he realised, but on a second glance knew he didn’t have the heart to. Jean was breathing heavily now, just as painfully hard as Marco was, and Marco knew he couldn’t take much more of it.

He moved closer, and stopped short when Jean rolled onto his front. “Er… J-Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we… I mean, can we…” Marco bit his lip. “I want to see you. C-can we do that?”

Jean turned back over, frowning. “You… want to see me?” When Marco nodded, his teeth almost biting through his lip in his nerves, Jean’s frown deepened. “I’ve never… never done it that way before.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, we can do it your wa-”

“No. No, I… I’ve wanted to do it like that. But…” His voice trailed off. “I never did.”

“You didn’t?” The question sat between them for a beat. Marco tried to ignore the thought of Marlow, he really did, but it was hard. _I wanted a virgin, he was a good fuck, and he kept his head down._ He shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts. “Okay, just… tell me what you want, okay?” he asked, shuffling closer again. He must have sounded like a broken record.

Jean seemed to give out a small sob of relief before drawing him in, his hand seeking Marco’s and drawing them together on the bedsheets. Jean used their entangled hands to yank Marco forwards, lifting his legs to wrap them around Marco’s waist before reaching up to give him a slight peck on the underside of his chin. “Please…” he said softly, faintly. Marco was surprised at how quiet Jean seemed; he’d been expecting curses, demands, biting and well, everything. It seemed Jean really did like to go gentle. He returned the kiss softly, and then he was pushing into him.

Jean made a face, and bit down on his lip so hard it drew blood. Marco froze. “I-I’m sorry, am I hurting you?” he asked. He wanted to curl up in a corner and never come out.

“N-no, it’s just… feels a little strange, that’s all. Hurts a bit.” Jean squeezed their hands together. “But that’s okay, that’s normal. Just… take it slow, and don’t start ramming me yet, not ‘til I’m used to it.”

_Oh._ Marco relaxed. He moved in a little more before Jean’s crass words actually registered. He paused. “I wondered if you were always so eloquent when you spoke,” he said, offering a grin down at him. “Turns out I was right.”

Jean gave a sarcastic ‘ha ha’ and a weak smack on the arm. “Come on, comedian of the year, just fuck me already.”

Marco suppressed the urge to bite back, and instead took that as permission to start moving against Jean. He got a breathless gasp as reward, and leaned forward to catch Jean’s lips between his own, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin he found there and making Jean whimper as he arched back against Marco’s movement. Marco let out a gasp of his own, and bit a little too hard on Jean’s lip. There was no stopping it; every move he made was sending shock-waves of pleasure through his system, and Jean’s noises were only increasing them. He tried to make sure his rocks were slow and deliberate as he dropped Jean’s hand to thread his fingers through both the buzz-cutted dark and the ash blonde flyaway hair, gripping at it in places as he gave a particularly deep thrust just to hear Jean’s moans increase in volume. He let his elbows support him as he moved, and he kept his hands tangled in Jean’s hair, kissing along his jawline with every little movement he made. Jean was still shaking, though whether that was through nerves or pleasure Marco wasn’t sure, and it only made him want to be more gentle, more tender, more _anything._ Just for him.

_He deserves everything,_ Marco thought as he nudged Jean’s head out of the way so he could pepper kisses slowly down the curve of his throat. He wanted to smooth over every harsh word, every punch, every kick, every insult ever muttered to him. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

“Ngh, Marco,” Jean murmured, breaking Marco out of his train of thought. He looked up at Jean hazily, and saw that through the panting and the blushing, Jean was smiling too. “You don’t have to… ngh… hold back,” he said, trailing a hand along Marco’s chest. “I trust you.”

_I trust you._

Marco let out a small moan of his own as Jean’s teeth grazed along the side of his neck, and let his head rest against Jean’s shoulder as he felt the urge to buck his hips a little faster, earning more moans from the both of them. “I love you,” he mumbled, the hand in Jean’s hair knotting tight as he gave a heavy thrust. Jean drew him nearer at that, his arms wrapping around Marco’s neck and pulling him in close as he rocked back against him, his moans slowly turning into heavy pants. “M-Marco,” he said, kissing the freckles on Marco’s shoulder at every thrust, “Ngh, try to… try to change your angle a little…”

“Angle?” Marco frowned, but tilted his hips nonetheless. “L-like that?” he asked.

“N-not quite, just a little… little more… wait, no… ow, fuck, definitely not…” And then it happened. Jean clenched himself around Marco with a steady stream of, “Motherfucker, oh fuck, yeah, yeah there,” and held onto him so tight Marco thought he might have been strangled. Jean was quaking now, definitely quaking, but Marco knew he wasn’t afraid this time. He was cursing and shaking and almost _whimpering_ , and Marco hadn’t heard anything quite so hot in his entire life.

He found himself quickening his movements, thrusting into Jean with a sense of urgency he’d never felt before, and he was rewarded with the legs that were clamped around him tightening against his skin as Jean arched against him. “Harder,” Jean whispered, and that was when Marco was pretty sure he fell apart. He ran his tongue down Jean’s neck as he buried himself inside of him with a sharp gasping moan that left him breathless. He licked and sucked at the sensitive flesh, listening to Jean’s wordless pleading as he hit against his prostate again and again, until he heard Jean’s moans reach a volume that made his blush triple.

“M-Marco, I’m gonna fucki-”

His words were cut sort as he came, his entire body tightening and shuddering around Marco like a storm-tossed ship as he let out one last mewling cry. Marco was pretty sure that that was the noise that drove him over his own edge that he had been teetering on for so long, and he rocked into Jean with a barely concealed whimper, clinging on tight to him and breathing steady curses into the side of his neck as he came down from his high.

When he finally moved his head from the crook of Jean’s neck, he saw that Jean was panting for breath, his hair all over the place and a post-climax glow to his cheeks. He wanted to ask if everything was alright, if he’d been any good, but the words didn’t come. He moved away from him then, his limbs feeling like lead and his sides aching from how tightly Jean had been gripping him with his knees, and disposed of the condom whilst he tried to get his breath back. Jean reached for his hand when he returned to the bed and threaded their fingers together, his stomach still rising and falling heavily. He let out a dry, breathless chuckle. “V-virgin my ass,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You were… you were pretty fucking good, Marco. So gentle. Sweet.” Jean chuckled again. “My boy fucks _good._ ”

Marco blushed instantly. “JEAN.”

“It’s only the truth!” Jean’s grin seemed to widen as Marco looked away, the blush threatening to burn his freckles off. “Don’t tell me you’re getting embarrassed now,” Jean laughed. “I think it’s a compliment.”

“Stop ittt.” Marco tilted his head up and planted a lazy, tired kiss on Jean’s lips, before flopping his head on the pillow next to him. “I embarrass easy enough as it is.”

Jean smiled and returned the kiss for a brief moment. “I really do love you, you know,” he said.

Marco felt the warmth blossom inside where the coiling, churning anxiety usually resided. He smiled too. “I know. And I love you.”

Jean let out a small hum of satisfaction as he looked down at himself. His lips pursed. “I need to go clean up,” he said, bringing their clasped hands up to his lips to kiss Marco’s knuckles. “I’ll be right back.”

He had been right back. He rolled onto Marco’s bed without hesitation and wriggled closer, nuzzling his head against Marco’s own as he tried to get as close as he possibly could. Marco opened up his arms and brought them around his back, tracing small patterns in his skin as they lay there. There was no flinching, no hollow fear, no nothing. Jean was just lying there, enjoying the feel of Marco all around him, and that was enough to relax Marco too. He even shut his eyes, letting out a large sigh as he felt his muscles slacken ever so slightly. “Hey, Marco?” Jean said after a moment, breaking the silence.

Marco cracked open an eye. “Mm?”

“Can I… can I do you next time?”

“I guess, though it’s a weird thing to ask.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

There was a pause. “We’ll have to be quieter when your mum’s in the house, I think we kept the horses up.”

“What?”  
“I think Titan’s gonna be giving you  funny looks tomorrow.”

“Oh my God Jean, go to sleep.”

Jean’s cackling laughter was his only reply.

* * *

Marco wasn’t sure how long they had lain there, tangled in each other and breathing evenly, before he’d finally drifted off to sleep. He woke up a few hours later in the dark with a gently snoring Jean tucked underneath his chin, hands creased against his chest. He smiled and brushed his lips against Jean’s temple, watching as Jean shifted slightly in his sleep and let out a soft sigh as he did so. He sunk back into the depths of sleep after that, and only awoke when a car horn blasted its way into his mind at six the next morning.

He jolted upright in an instant, eyes snapping open, and by the sounds of protest coming from beside him Jean was awake too. “What’s that?” Marco said groggily, running a hand back through his hair.

“Hell if I fuckin’ know,” Jean muttered, groaning as he rolled onto his back.

“Oh, someone not wanting to wake up?” Marco teased, playing with the strands of Jean’s hair that fell on his pillow. “ _Most_ unlike you.”

“Shut up, ugh.” Jean smirked up at him. “What can I say, taking it up the ass takes a lot out of _you_.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Such elegant banter,” he commented, leaning down to kiss him gently. Jean responded with a soft hum, moving onto his elbows to chase Marco’s lips.

The horn sounded again. This time it was so loud and so sudden it might as well have picked the two of them up and flung them out of bed. With a collective, ‘fuck!’ and an ‘ow my head!’ they ended up tangled on the floor, groaning and clutching their injuries. “What the _fuck_ is that?!” Jean complained, massaging his head with a grimace. “Who is fucking honking at us in our own home?!” He blushed instantly when he realised what he’d said. “I-I mean, your. Your home, heh.”

“I don’t know!” Marco hissed, darting to the window to get a better look. His room looked out on the main yard, and his eyes immediately landed on a chunky black car and trailer that had pulled into centre of it, the horses in the stalls looking just as disgruntled and alarmed by the interruption as he and Jean were. He frowned. Who on earth was driving into their stables with a horse trailer at such an early hour? And then he saw the grouchy head appearing from the front door. His eyes snapped open. “What the-?”

“Oi, brat, you gonna get down here and stop fucking Kirschtein or what? I can turn right back around, you know.” The sneer of Levi was unmistakeable. “And I can see your dick.”

In all his life, Marco had never expected to be given a wake-up call from the grouchy Trost Academy trainer. But it registered too late that he was stood, blinking blearily out of his window, completely naked. And Levi could see it all. Marco gave out a high-pitched yelp and dived backwards, nearly knocking everything off of his desk in the process and sending Jean sprawling into the further corners of his room. _Nope_ , he thought, whipping the quilt off his bed and clutching it to him like a frightened maid, _this was never something I imagined happening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Levi sees the Bodt. And it was good. 8)
> 
> ((I have to add that the idea of Eleanor Bodt going out to some bars with Erwin and Hannes is a hilarious image in my mind- the flirt tactics would be SO strong and Hannes would be rather jealous of Erwin he'd probably end up taking a crutch and hiding it somewhere so Erwin can't follow Eleanor about. Children.))


	21. No Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update time! Whewt, this is a bit of a mismatched chapter, apologies about that! But I needed to cram in a lot into the space of this single chapter (not to mention the fact I forgot to set up the major point of the chapter until I read it back when it was two thirds done, stoopid person) so I hope it all bounces around nicely! So we see Levi being...well, Levi, smexy horse trainer that he is, Jean doing some smarts and learnins and some more fluff. Fluffluffluff. You guys deserve it. And we also have Marco having a bit of an existential crisis. Bless.
> 
> Again, feedback is super appreciated and I honestly love and reply to each and every one as soon as I can :) 
> 
> My tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/

"I'm sorry!"

"Bodt, you've said you were sorry about thirty times in the space of a minute, it doesn't make it less disturbing."

"I really am sorry, though!"

"Bodt, I swear to God if you don't stop apologising I'll stick your head through the fence."

Marco had dressed as quickly as he was able and was out in the courtyard in minutes, chest heaving as he fought for breath. Jean had taken more time getting ready, but, as Marco screamed at him, he wasn't the one who Levi had seen naked. He needed to stay in his good books as best he could. The bad-tempered trainer was stood leaning against the horsebox when Marco hurtled out to meet him, brow arched and eyes looking around the yard with interest. He still hadn't explained why he'd appeared out of nowhere and given Marco such a heart attack. He instead let Marco blurt out apology after apology like he was throwing them at him and then shot him down magnificently. It seemed typical of him.

Marco hung his head. "O-okay, I'll shut up."

"Good. You were giving me a headache." Levi folded his arms and tapped a boot idly. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here."

Marco blinked. "A little, yeah. Is something wrong?"

"You said you needed help with Titan, and then I don't see him for five days. I figured you were either avoiding me or were too busy."

"I wasn't avoiding you!” Marco said, panicked. “You've been very helpful and Titan's really improving because of you and-"

"-which is why I came to you. The mountain comes to Mohammed or some shit like that." He looked towards the front of the car and sighed. "Besides, I need Titan’s papers. And she talked me into it. She wants to meet you."

"She?" Marco peered around the horsebox curiously, and saw the back of a strawberry blonde head in the passenger's seat. Levi definitely wouldn't have come of his own accord, he realised, so this 'she' had clearly been the one to nudge him in the right direction. But who could possibly boss around someone like Levi?

Levi didn't gratify his question with an answer. Instead, he turned his head to see Jean jogging towards them, fully dressed and alarm flooding through him. "Ah, Kirschtein, took your sweet time," he said. “Not walking bow-legged I see.”

"What are you doing here?" Jean demanded as he neared them. Marco didn’t miss the flush of colour at Levi’s remark. "Did my father send you to spy on me?"

Levi snorted. "Like I would take orders from a shit-licker like Jacques Kirschtein. I'm here for Bodt, nothing else."

"If you're here to help Marco," Jean said, his eyes flicking to the horsebox, "why do you have horses in there?"

Levi glared at him. "Experiment. Enough questions, Kirschtein? Come help me."

Jean followed the older man to the backseat of the car, and his face brightened as he caught sight of who was in the passenger's seat. "Petra!" he cried. "How are you?" Marco blinked. Levi's wife? She was here?

"Hello Jean!" The voice was light, musical almost, and full of sunny optimism. "I'm doing fine thanks! Levi’s been waiting on me hand and foot since that fall a few weeks ago- I think he’s worried about me being clumsy and doing it again!"

"I bet you love being treated like a princess."

"Oh, you see right through me!" she giggled.

"When you've quite finished flirting," Levi muttered.

"Oh, Levi, don't be so sharp," Petra tutted. "Jean is a good boy. I like him."

"Yeah, don't I know it."

"Levi."

"Kirschtein, if you don’t help me get the chair out now I swear to god I'll-"

"LEVI."

"Ugh, fine, please?"

Marco stifled a chuckle as Jean and Levi wrestled a wheelchair out of the back seat and set it up, Levi doing it with an experienced flick of his hands. At the same time, Orpheus appeared with a grumbling snort, trotting towards Marco importantly with his eyes sparking. "Er, hello again," Marco said, smiling weakly as the little dog neared him. He knelt down with some difficulty to fuss over the little creature when a loud BANG from the trailer startled him. Then a scream. Then another bang. "What's in there?" he asked.

Petra called from the front seat, "Oh, Levi did insist on bringing Sawney with us."

Marco baulked at that. Sawney? Levi had brought _Sawney_ to his stables, the black stallion that had terrorised Titan at Trost? He was about to turn and say that he was very grateful, but they would have to leave in case the stallion caused havoc, but instead he turned to see Petra seated in her wheelchair, a small smile on her face, and the protests abruptly stopped.

She was beautiful, a few years Levi’s junior with a beaming smile and shoulder length strawberry blonde hair that bounced energetically on her shoulders as she wheeled herself forwards. Jean’s hands had reached out to grab the chair, but Petra seemed more than capable of moving herself about. "Levi can't go anywhere without Sawney. I think he should have married that horse, not me."

"There would have been legal difficulties," Levi quipped, appearing behind her.

"See? The only reason!" Petra said, flinging her hands up in the air.

Marco chuckled. He liked Petra already. She was sunny and full of life, but there was something lurking at the back of her eyes that gave the impression that it had taken her a long time to get to how she was in the present. Whatever had happened in the accident, it hadn’t broken her down. She was happy. She was in love. And that was all that seemed to matter to her, Marco thought as she reached a hand up behind her head to take Levi's tenderly. And the way Levi smiled at her was enough to melt snow. "So, you're Marco," she said. "I heard you had an accident with your horse, and he's still got some lasting emotional trauma, right?"

Marco nodded. "Yeah, but he's getting better, slowly."

"So you're riding him?"

"Uh... not yet."

The smile slipped off of Petra's face. She looked up at her husband accusingly. "Why isn't he riding his horse, Levi? I thought you said you could fix any horse. That's what you told me when we met."

"I also said I fix horses with time and patience," Levi said, squeezing her hand gently. "Trust you to leave out the important details."

"Someone has to, honey."

To Marco's surprise, Levi gave a throaty chuckle before focusing back on Marco. "Bring him out. Petra wanted to see him. And get his papers while you’re at it, I don’t have all morning. I have a lesson to teach at twelve."

“I’ll get them,” Jean offered, sharing a glance with Marco. Eleanor had fished out Titan’s breeding papers a few days ago and left them in the slowly mounting pile on the kitchen table. Jean probably knew where they were better than Marco did. Marco nodded with a smile, and Jean wandered back to the house, a large yawn ripping from his mouth. Marco found it hard not to yawn along with him; they hadn’t had much sleep, after all. Orpheus took it in his duties to follow Jean, his angry little grumbles and wheezes unmistakeable as he trotted by his side, occasionally hopping on his back legs for attention.

"Levi told me so much about your horse!" Petra said eagerly, diverting Marco’s attention back to her. Levi was busy seeing to the occupants of the horsebox. "He said he's gigantic, a real statue of a horse! And he's black too, right? Black as twilight? I love black horses!" She wheeled herself forwards an inch, eyes practically shining with excitement. “Are you sure I can see him?”

Marco looked between the eager Petra and the stoic Levi, and knew he had little choice in the matter. "Er, yeah, it’s no problem, I'll go get him," he said, turning on his heel and heading in the direction of Titan’s stall.

Titan looked surprised to see him as he slipped into the stall with the gelding’s headcollar and leadrope. "Yeah, I know big guy," he said, fastening the tattered headcollar around his head and clipping the leadrope to it, "I don't know why it's so urgent either." Titan bobbed his head with a whicker and nudged Marco's arm playfully. He clattered out of his stable moments later with a snort, throwing his head up immediately as he caught the scent of other horses on the wind. "Hey, take it easy," Marco soothed, laying a hand on the twitching coat. “They’re not here to hurt you.” He paused. “I think.” Titan let out a loud whinny and laid an ear back, not convinced by Marco’s attempt at reassurance as he was led forward, his hooves striking a din on the floor of the yard.

When they rounded the corner into Petra’s eyeline, Marco saw her hands fly to her mouth. He ducked his head shyly and continued leading Titan on, trying to focus more on the hoof-beats and not the small gathering of people. “Oh, Marco, he’s beautiful,” Petra said as he stopped Titan before them, her hands drifting away from her mouth to cup her face. “What a gorgeous animal. Have you had him long?”

Marco nodded consciously. “A few years.”

Titan’s ears flicked forwards at the sight of both the trailer and the visitors, and lowered his head hesitantly to nose the frame of Petra’s wheelchair, nostrils flaring a little as he tried to figure out what the contraption was. Petra let out a small laugh and offered her hand to him, palm flat and fingers wiggling invitingly. Titan inhaled her scent with a rumble and nosed his muzzle into her palm, and Petra gave him a beaming smile. Marco felt the giant body relax a fraction, and gave him a hesitant pat as reward. “Oh, Levi,” she said, stroking Titan’s nose with a tender hand, “he’s nothing but a big sweetheart.”

“You got anything from him?” Levi asked, folding his arms to stand beside her. The horsebox was silent.

Marco was about to ask what he meant by that, but Petra piped up, “He’s a halfblood, no mistaking that, probably German or Dutch blood somewhere in his lineage… he has an intelligent eye and he carries himself like a racehorse, but he’s got way more muscle than any thoroughbreds I’ve ever seen.” She frowned. “But he _does_ have something about him, doesn’t he Levi?”

“Without a doubt,” Levi agreed. “You see it too?”

She nodded fervently. “Definitely. There’s something wild about him, something savage. Not that he _is_ savage, he’s too trained for that, but there’s definitely something.”

Levi seemed satisfied with her observations. “I thought as much,” he confirmed.

Marco looked between them, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“My wife is very observant,” Levi answered. “She was a judge for breed classes for a while, so she knows a lot about equine conformation. It’s a start for finding out more about him, seeing as your papers are probably going to be fake.”

“F-fake?!” Marco spluttered. “B-but we were told he was-”

“Pure equine stock. Right?” Levi snorted. “Anything can be considered ‘pure equine stock’. A shit-stained donkey can be considered ‘pure equine stock’. That’s a line they throw you.”

“B-but he’s very well-mannered!” Petra said, shooting a warning glance at her husband. “He’s quite the gentleman, Marco. You should be proud of him.”

“You haven’t seen the demon he becomes around the object of his fear,” Levi commented with a frown, walking over to Titan without hesitation and giving him a hefty pat on his shoulder. Titan’s head shot up from Petra’s fussing to stare down at the impudent little two-legged brave enough to assume friendship, and Marco felt him shift against his leadrope. “He’s a fighter, Petra, a lot like Sawney.”

Marco let a frown cross his features, but hid it relatively well by turning to Titan and tangling his fingers in the gelding’s mane. He didn’t want Titan to be compared to Sawney; to him, they couldn’t be more different. “W-why did you bring Sawney and… whatever other horse you brought?”

Levi’s mouth twitched. “Can we use your ménage for an hour or so?”

“I guess so.”

“Then let him off in there. Keep his headcollar on, but let him loose.”

He sighed. Levi was the boss, after all. After one last pat from Petra, Marco led Titan into the ménage and shut the gate securely behind them. He unclipped the leadrope and watched as Titan wandered away, head snaking to the ground to search out any stray weeds poking through the sand. By that time, Jean had returned and was handing Titan’s papers (apparently fake) to Levi, with Orpheus sat obediently at his feet. Marco had to chuckle at the way the little dog was trained on Levi’s word, sat there staring up at his master with nothing but loyalty and the will to obey in his dark little eyes. Levi picked Orpheus up and moved to stand by the fence. “Okay, Bodt, get out of there,” he commanded, and Marco was all too happy to obey him.

It happened again. The moment Levi asked Orpheus to begin barking, Titan exploded into a series of bucks and squeals, ears flat back against his head and eyes rolling as he attempted to charge them down. This time, Marco grabbed for Jean’s hand without any consciousness, their hands locking together as they watched the giant body conduct its anger out on the ménage. Levi let out a soft noise of observation. “Huh, would you look at that? He calmed down a little quicker than before,” he said. Sure enough, Titan was on the opposite side of the ménage, stomach heaving and body shining with sweat, but he had stopped and was only watching them warily from his safe area. “Time to get out Sawney.”

“Wh-what?” Marco’s eyes widened. “Levi, surely not, Sawney is-”

“-exactly what Titan needs. He needs a horse that’ll knock him down a peg or ten and then show him that there’s nothing to fear. He needs a horse that’s above him in the pecking order.” Levi turned from the fence and walked towards the trailer, Marco following him like an extremely worried duckling. “Like I said before, Bodt, horses are herd animals and respond to herd instincts. Titan needs the sort of guidance humans can’t give to him all the time. Sawney doesn’t react to dogs, and seeing a higher ranking horse ignore dogs might give Titan the confidence to ignore them himself. It asks him the question: if a higher ranking horse isn’t afraid of them, why should he be?” He reached the box and unfastened the ramp from the top. “Kirschtein, get over the back and help.”

Jean hurried to do just that, giving a mocking grimace to Marco as he passed him, and unfastened the other side. The two of them managed to work the ramp down with little difficulty, though when Jean saw the other occupant of the trailer he nearly dropped said ramp on Levi’s foot. “You brought _BUCHWALD?!_ ” An accompanying neigh greeted him. Marco rushed to see, and sure enough the chocolate brown horse was tethered beside Sawney, his head bobbing up and down like an excitable bird. He had neighed at the sight of Jean, Marco was sure of it, and when Jean took a step onto the ramp the bobbing increased as the gelding tried to get closer. “Hey, hey, ssh you baby,” Jean scolded, laying a hand on the horse’s nose. He smiled when Buchwald leaned into the hand he rested on him, a softer whinny rumbling through him at that. It was like watching the reunion of two old friends, and Marco couldn’t help but smile too as Buchwald butted his head into Jean’s chest, nickering happily.

“Yeah, I needed a lower ranking horse too,” Levi replied dryly. “Besides, I saw Bodt’s name in your handwriting on the sign-up sheet, so I figured he needed something to train on.”

“Buchwald’s not a _something_ ,” Jean grumbled, giving the horse a reassuring pat.

Marco took a tentative step forwards, intent on giving Buchwald some attention, when the vicious head of Sawney lunged in Buchwald’s direction, sending the younger horse darting backwards into the relative safety of the trailer. Marco scrambled backwards too, his pulse quickening, and Levi took his place, latching a rope through Sawney’s shining leather headcollar. “Sawney, come,” he ordered, and to Marco’s surprise the stallion obeyed silently, stepping out of the trailer with a barely concealed snort of disgust at his trailer-mate.

Now he could see Sawney in full Marco had to admit that he was an impressive stallion. He was a completely solid black; there wasn’t a single white marking on the stallion’s entire body, just a solid mass of ebony that was shining with good grooming. Standing as he was, Sawney looked close to Titan’s height, though he was built far heavier. He had a large barrel chest and a thick neck that twisted this way and that as he took in his surroundings, nostrils flaring pinkly. He was older, too; there was the beginning of bearding on his jowl, and his overall build was suggesting a horse that was slipping into the prime of life, though the wicked gleam in his eye as Levi turned him in a circle suggested there was still a lot of fight left in him. It was clear to see that he was a fighter by his scars; he was covered in them, pale marks criss-crossing and streaking his body like trophies, and Marco spotted a particularly nasty one on his withers. Levi saw him looking.

“He was born wild,” he explained, leading Sawney closer to Marco. Marco took a step back. “He got these marks when he was living feral in France, but some of them are from men’s hands.”

Marco watched as Sawney shook his head savagely, a challenging cry trumpeting out of his mouth as he wheeled around Levi again, a ball of anger and frustration. Levi was talking to him in the same biting French Marco had heard before, and it did seem to be helping. Sawney was slowly but surely calming, and his movements became less choppy and more relaxed the longer he was out of the horsebox.

Petra rolled her eyes. “Levi’s always had an eye for the dangerous ones. He likes them. I think he gets a kick out of helping them.”

“Like a hole in the head, Petra. A hole in the head.” He then started to lead Sawney towards the ménage, where Titan was watching intently, head up and ears flicked in interest.

Marco’s stomach dropped. “L-Levi-!” he called, “I really don’t think that’s a good ide-”

“With respect, _boy_ , I have more experience than you’ll ever have with horses like this, so shut your mouth and help Kirschtein get his horse out,” Levi snarled. His words stabbed at Marco, but he figured the trainer was right. Levi knew what he was doing, and he just had to trust his judgement.

Whilst Levi opened the gate to the ménage and led Sawney in, the stallion tossing his head and whinnying loudly to the waiting Titan, Marco swallowed his worries and anxieties and looked back to Jean. He was already unloading Buchwald, talking in low soothing tones to the young gelding as they hit solid ground. Buchwald was still rather leggy, Marco noted, but he had an eager to please face and seemed to be brimming with childlike energy, and when Marco offered a hand to him Buchwald towed Jean forward to get acquainted with this potential friend. “Waldy, that _hurt_ ,” Jean complained. Buchwald ignored him. “Ugh, he’s hopeless.” He grinned at Marco. “Levi brought his tack too. Do you want to ride him later? We could set up a few small jumps to get you started.”

Marco paled at the thought of jumping. His heart had once leapt at every fence, but now it was racing at the thought of going near one again. “I don’t know about that, m-maybe we could start off with a bit of canter work…” he tried.

Jean whined. “Marcoo,” he said, taking a step closer, “you’ve done canter work for the past few weeks. You gotta get jumping again, come on.” He tilted his head and pecked him on the lips playfully. “For me?”

“I’ve done a lot of things for you.”

“For me, though?”

“Jean, I-”

“For meee.”

Jean was kissing down his jaw now, and images of the night before flashed back into his vision. He blushed. “Fine, fine!” he said, waving Jean away to fuss over the curious gelding, “but for Buchwald.”

“Aw what, you’ll do it for my horse but not for me? I’m insulted.” Marco chuckled and gave Jean a quick kiss on the cheek to sate him. Jean’s smile grew wider, and Marco could feel it burning into his shoulder as he ran a hand down Buchwald’s soft coat. “You’re blushing, you know.”

“Wh-what?!” Marco brought a hand to his cheek and sure enough, it was burning like a flare. “N-no I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are.” Jean’s smile soon became a smirk. “You thinkin’ naughty things, Freckles?”

“No!”

“Bullshit, you totally were.”

“Bodt, get over here!”

Marco jolted away from Jean at the sound of Levi’s voice. He was leaning on the ménage fence watching the two black horses inside, brow furrowed and arms tightly folded. Marco and Jean wandered closer, Jean taking a little longer since he had to tether Buchwald somewhere first, and Marco’s eyes immediately fell on Titan. His horse was watching Sawney’s approach with suspicion, head held high and nostrils twitching. He had almost frozen in place as the stallion trotted up to him. Sawney was certainly more worse for wear, sure, but he was far more threatening than Titan ever could be. Titan was a well-groomed poodle compared to him. When the two horses met, Titan lowered his head to nose at the newcomer, shivers rippling through his giant body. Sawney, however, was stock still. They remained like that for a minute or so, getting each other’s scents and sizing each other up.

And then they both exploded.

Titan wheeled around on his hind legs with a squeal, backing off as Sawney reared up with a scream. Marco hadn’t known that another horse could make a call like that, but Sawney had just proved him wrong. The stallion’s forelegs thrummed the air for a split second before he was back on all fours and charging Titan. Marco’s hands gripped onto the ménage for support as he watched Titan sidestep his tormentor and give him a quick nip. “Why are you letting them do this?” he asked Levi, panic flooding through his system.

“This is how they’d sort out the pecking order in the wild,” Levi replied calmly, “so that is how they will sort it out here. Titan’s already showing his submissive side, watch.”

Marco did. And he saw Titan produce a tremendous kick in Sawney’s direction before galloping past him in a wide arc, his head lowering to the ground. Sawney thundered after him, the stallion’s hooves churning up what little sand they had left in the arena, and nipped Titan’s rump as he caught up with him. With a scream Titan wheeled around at his aggressor and reared, but Sawney only retreated a few steps before charging back, teeth bared and eyes flashing. Titan didn’t lunge at him again, and instead wheeled on his hind legs to avoid the snapping teeth and pinned ears. “T-they’re not…”

“Of course they’re not going to kill each other,” Levi huffed. “Horses aren’t like wolves, Bodt. Sawney and Titan need each other, and they know it even if it annoys the shit out of them. They need to be together to feel safe.” Marco found himself thinking about Jean, and blushed at the comparison.

Levi suggested they leave Sawney and Titan alone for a while (commenting that they were less likely to make friends with everyone gawping at them) and set about around the rows of stables nearest the ménage. Marco followed him awkwardly. Levi was used to a big, fancy _riding academy_ , not a totterdown old stable yard like this, and he could see the slight upturns of the older man’s nose as he scoured the place. He even took to peering into some of the stalls at the occupants, making little curious noises in the back of his throat. He stopped particularly long at Champ’s stall, watching the old chestnut shuffle about with his rickety joints and wheezing breath, before giving Marco a look that clearly demanded an answer. “He’s Marco’s old horse,” came Jean’s voice from Marco’s shoulder. He turned to see him glaring at Levi. “He won competitions on him.”

Levi blinked slowly. “Is that so?” He looked back at Champ. “You’re taking good care of him. A horse that old should be dead and buried by now.”

Marco gulped at the thought, and Jean patted him on the shoulder. “There’s Levi, infamously terrible with words.”

“Boys, boys!” Petra crowed from behind them. “Wasn’t Jean going to let Marco ride Buchwald?”

Levi made a ‘tch’ing noise. “From the look of Bodt this morning, Jean’s already let him ride something of his.”

“ ** _Levi!_** ” Petra scolded as both Jean and Marco turned the colour of pillar boxes, “must you be so crude?!”

“You knew I was crude when you married me. You like it. Come on.”

Petra gave him a warning look (a look that she seemed to have perfected over the years of being married to Levi, Marco reasoned) and rolled herself back to the trailer to retrieve Buchwald’s tack, Levi following lazily behind her.

Both boys were still violently blushing. “This… wasn’t exactly the wake-up call I wanted,” Marco said, rubbing the back of his neck and casting his eyes down to the floor.

“Tell me about it,” Jean grumbled. “If anyone kills morning wood it’s gotta be the sound of that angry little gremlin shouting at you.”

“W-well I didn’t have _that_ ,” Marco muttered, heat shooting into his cheeks yet again.

Jean smirked, sidling a little closer and bumping him with his hip playfully. “You would’ve pretty quick if I had anything to say about it.”

“Wow, you’re so smooth.”

“Aren’t I though?”

“KIRSCHTEIN.”

Jean made a face and ran a hand through his still unruly hair, a loud groan rumbling free. “I take it back. He’s a gnome. A really pissed off gnome.”

“Jean…”

He sniggered. “Maybe someone pinched his fishing rod.”

“Jean! He might hear you!”

Levi didn’t hear him, although he did stride towards Buchwald with a gleaming black saddle slung over his shoulder and began tacking him up without uttering a word to either of them. At first, Marco thought he had managed to upset Levi in some way (and was quickly planning his funeral) until Petra appeared next to him and rolled her eyes. “Sometimes he likes the sound of silence,” she said. “Don’t take it personally- I did for a while, and I wasted a lot of years worrying about it. He wants to see you ride, anyway. I think he’s a little eager, in his own way, to see you.”

“H-he is?” Marco asked, blinking. Levi didn’t seem like the type of person who was capable of being eager for anything.

Petra nodded. “He’s been talking about you. He’s really interested in Titan. I’ve not seen another horse like Sawney for a very long time, and neither has Levi. But I have a feeling we’ve found something that your horse and his share, and that’s made Levi want to help.”

Marco thought back to something Jean had said before his first meeting with Levi Marco had been worried about taking Titan anywhere, and Jean had simply shrugged and said, ‘Levi doesn’t just help any horse. He chooses'. He had chosen to help Titan... but there must have been a variety of reasons... “He chose Titan because he was reminded of Sawney?” Marco asked.

Petra smiled. “That’s right. They have the same spirit.” Marco sincerely hoped not. Sawney was wild, reckless, and just plain _nasty_. Titan had a far better temperament than the stallion he was currently sharing the ménage with. Marco’s feelings must have shown on his face, for Petra let out a little laugh. “Oh, your Titan’s much better behaved than Sawney, don’t worry about that! They’re just… similar, somehow.”

Marco didn’t have chance to question her further; Jean was back at his side and dragging him to meet a now fully tacked up Buchwald. “Levi said he could help you too,” he said, his grin infectious, “and I’m gonna go get Sina ready. I’ll be right back.” And then he kissed him, simple and sweet but he kissed him with no hesitation or worried glances around the yard. Levi could have been staring. Petra could have been giggling. But Jean hadn’t cared- he’d just kissed him. And what was even better was that Marco kissed him back.

* * *

 

The lesson had gone better than Marco had ever anticipated. Buchwald was a far cry from Sina; where she had been springy and almost jarring in her paces, the young gelding was flowing and smooth, one ear always back as though he was listening for the next command. Marco and Jean had practiced in the field skirting the ménage, and Levi fashioned a few small obstacles out of blocks and poles snatched from the arena where the other two horses milled about, at suspicious ease with one another by then. Titan had trotted over to the fence and neighed loudly at the sight of Marco turning Buchwald towards a small jump, and the young horse had shied ever so slightly to the right in the wake of such a big animal staring him down. Jean had joked that Titan was getting upset at seeing Marco ride another horse, but Marco waved it off with a roll of his eyes and a chuckle.

He was nervous at first, the small jumps looking like mountains to him, but after a few moments working trot poles with Levi agitatedly shouting commands, it looked like he was going to be okay. Buchwald was reacting to his aids well and with gusto in places; in one instant Marco was trotting, and the slightest nudge of his heels had sent the gelding into a rolling, rocking canter that surprised even Jean.

Jean was having no issue at all with the measly jumps set up for them. He swept Sina around in such elegant circles that Marco slowed Buchwald down to watch, his eyes wide as Jean took both of the practice fences in his stride easily. They were only small, sure enough- they hadn’t wanted to start on anything _that_ big straight away- but Jean treated every obstacle like it was competition standard, and Sina still tucked her knees underneath her even if that meant clearing the meagre jump by feet instead of inches.

Buchwald had a sloppier mode of jumping, it was true, but he just seemed a little overeager. Marco would point him at a jump, level him out and let him canter towards it, but the gelding leapt like he was clearing a gorge Spirit-style and landed on all fours on the other side, which was more than a little jarring. By the end of the session, though, Marco had him jumping far more neatly, with his forelegs hitting the ground before his hindlegs. Levi hadn’t said anything, but there had been a small smile on his face when he opened the paddock gate for them and whistled for Sawney.

Titan had actually looked sad to see the stallion go, and took to following Levi when he led the clearly annoyed Sawney away from him. He even gave a slight whistle to the older horse, and butted him playfully as Levi tried to bat him away with a curled lip. “Maybe he’s _too_ friendly,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s certainly worked, though. He’s definitely accepted Sawney as higher in rank than him. I’ll bring him here this weekend. Turn them out together, and leave them until Monday morning. Make sure you don’t put any mares in season near them, or else Sawney will get murderous.”

That was when Jean had dropped the bomb. “That’ll be easy, seeing as I’m going for my first assessment this weekend,” he’d said, offhand and casual, until his eyes met Marco’s. They widened. “Wait- shit, I didn’t say that! I didn’t, I swear!”

But it was too late. Marco had heard. And that was why he was sat cross-legged on Jean’s bed later on that day with books and papers surrounding him like his own personal moat, listening to Jean complain and whine and groan.

“ _C’mon_ Marco,” Jean pleaded, smacking a book into his lap, “it’s not gonna be that hard!”

“You’re just saying that to get out of studying,” Marco replied, not even looking at him as he thumbed through the third revision guide that hour. “I can’t believe we forgot about this. What sort of friend am I, forgetting about my side of the bargain? If you fail now, it’ll be _my_ fault.”

“Marcooo, that’s not true!” Jean protested. “Besides, you’re my _boy_ friend. There’s a difference. Boyfriends are meant to be bad influences.”

“Not this boyfriend, now read.” Marco tapped the paragraph Jean had been drifting from. “You need to pass, Jean! Otherwise-”

“Otherwise what? I won’t get in?” Jean let out a huff. “Would that really be so bad?”

Marco frowned and lowered his revision guide. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if I didn’t get in I could stay here.” Jean shrugged. “I could stay with you. We’d work something out.”

Marco bit his lip and let go of the guide completely. “Jean… you can’t throw your future away for me,” he said, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. The thought of Jean disregarding everything when he had so much potential just because of _him_ was hurt more than he could have ever thought. He was stuck in a sort of limbo between being selfish and wanting Jean to stay with him, and stay for as long as it was possible, and doing the right thing and supporting him in whatever he needed to do. His honourable side, so far, was winning the battle. “I don’t _want_ you to give anything up for me.”

Jean frowned. “You don’t want me around?” he asked. It was a carefully placed question, and Jean was staring at him with a mixture of fear and rejection that twisted something around in Marco’s gut.

“N-no! No, that’s not what I’m saying!” Marco gulped and snatched for Jean’s hand, holding it between the paper forts surrounding them. “Jean, I’m just saying that I’d wait, if that’s what you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.” That was a slight lie on his part- he _would_ mind. He’d mind an awful lot. He would probably pine like a pathetic, wailing widow, but Jean didn’t need to know that. “I just don’t want you to fail this entrance exam just because you think you have to choose between that and me. You don’t.”

Jean looked down at their clasped hands, and Marco gave an encouraging squeeze, giving him a smile that he hoped looked breezy. It worked. Jean sighed and leaned across the mountains of books to plant a soft kiss on Marco’s lips. “It’s not just you,” he whispered against Marco’s skin before rocking back to his original place.

Marco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t think I want to do what my dad wants me to anymore. I don’t want to be a show-jumper.” Jean fidgeted on the bed, as though he wanted to inch closer to Marco but the books were throwing up an invisible barrier. He kept his eyes on the prospectus left hanging off the edge of the bed, its glossy cover showing a group of smiling students with their preened and alert horses in front of the campus.

Marco’s frown increased. He scooted closer, causing a small pile of books to fall down, and put an arm around him. “You said you’ve always wanted to be one,” he said soothingly, “why change your mind now?”

“Because… ugh, this is gonna sound crazy...”

“No, go on, what is it?”

Jean sighed and burrowed in closer. “Just… working with the kids here. Teaching them things. Seeing their eyes light up when they get something right. It… it’s nice. It feels good. And I think that I could get a lot out of teaching instead of competing.” Jean shrugged again. “I’m not that good anyway.”

“You _are_ good, Jean!” Marco replied. “You’re really good! You were so close to beating Mikasa at the showgrounds, surely _that_ says something.” Jean didn’t respond. “Look, I think it’s great that you want to teach. I think it’s brilliant. The kids love you, that much is obvious. But… I still think you should go to one of these places. You could learn things to teach to them, right?”

Jean didn’t look convinced, but said nothing; he just leant his head on Marco’s shoulder and squeezed their hands together weakly.

“I know it’s hard,” Marco said, “because your Dad wants you to go there, and you feel like you want to rebel. But if I had the chance, I’d take it. Your Dad might be a bit of a tyrant, but he does care, in his own way.” _He didn’t take off the minute the going got tough_ , his mind reminded him cruelly, and he winced at the thought.

Jean noticed. “Your Dad doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he muttered in a voice barely louder than his whispers, turning his head to peck Marco on the cheek daintily.

Marco pulled him closer, the heaviness to his chest disappearing slightly as he turned his face to meet Jean’s lips, drawing out the kiss for as long as he could before breaking it with a lazy smile. “See? You’re just a cute little dork really.”

“Yup,” Jean replied, grinning as Marco gave him another quick kiss. “And I’ll try. For you, I guess. You’re right, as always.”

Marco moved away, his stomach settling as he picked up the prospectus. He glanced through the few courses it offered and let a small sigh wrangle free. He could feel the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach when he looked at it; the rolling hills, the converted mansion that was the accommodation, the gleaming facilities, all of it was so amazing. He would have given his right arm to go there. But then things brought him down to earth with a bump. He could never afford it. He wouldn’t ask his mother to try to scrape the money together for him. And if he left, that would leave his mother all alone to run the stables- he couldn’t do that to her. It was that reminder that made him close the prospectus with a snap and drop it on the bed between him and Jean. It felt as though he’d trapped the butterflies inside it too. “Okay”, he said, trying not to let his emotion show on his face, “let’s start working on Shakespeare again.” Their hands stayed connected as he pulled over the folder of notes, and he was certain Jean was staring at him the entire time he was reading them aloud.

* * *

 

Marco couldn’t shake the guilt he felt for how little work they had actually done for Jean’s exams. He knew there was no point- after all, a lot had happened this summer- but if it was him sitting the assessments he would have been studying every day with no breaks. He tried to get Jean to do the same, but his attention span didn’t last long. He was soon finding any excuse to get out of it. Marco had come close to telling Jean he wasn’t allowed to kiss him until the assessments were over, as that seemed his favourite form of procrastination, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it- he would be suffering too, if that were the case. Despite this, the wall of books and papers he constructed around him were doing a pretty good job of fending Jean off, to Jean’s annoyance. Marco would occasionally throw a book over his little barrier if he thought Jean wasn’t concentrating and would get an "Ow, motherFUCKER" for his trouble, but Marco soon found that the study sessions were becoming less forced and more natural. Jean began to take it a little more seriously, and started giving actual answers to Marco's questions instead of joke ones. By the time the first assessment rolled around, Jean was a lot more confident than he had been the week before.

"I'm gonna destroy that test," he muttered into his cornflakes that morning, and Marco let out an amused chuckle as he slid a steaming cup of coffee his way. "I swear to God, I'm gonna annihilate it thanks to you."

"Ah, psh, it was nothing really," Marco said, taking a gulp of coffee from his own mug and sitting down beside him. "You nervous though?"

Jean scoffed. "Me? Nervous? Nah. Not at all. No way. Nope." When Marco's brows disappeared into his hair, Jean huffed. "Okay fine, I'm shitting it, happy now?"

"No." He got a whack for that. "Jean, you'll be fine. You've done all the reading, you're getting all the answers right and you're going to get by fine on your riding skill alone."

Jean sighed. "I know, I know, I just always get like this anyway. Like, no matter how hard I prepare, I'm always going to feel like I want to throw up before I go into the exam room."

Marco made a face. He knew the feeling. He hadn't been in formal education for a few years now, but he remembered the churning feeling, the butterflies turning into falcons in his belly... and the shakes. Oh, did he remember the shakes. That was back when he didn't have them all the time, and taking a test was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. He wished that was still the case now. "How long is the drive?" he asked.

Jean shrugged. "An hour or so, if I don't get lost. And I don't have the trailer attached so I can go a little faster. We'll be there before lunchtime, I'd say, and the assessment starts at 1, so."

Marco nodded, and then registered the 'we' in Jean's sentence. "Hang on, I'm coming with you?" he asked.

Jean blinked. "You're _not_ coming with me?"

Marco frowned. "I didn't think you'd want me to come. After all, it's your assessment and stuff, and I figured you'd want to just get it over and done with without anyone making a big fuss over it."

"Well, yeah, but..." Jean turned back to his cornflakes, sucking a breath through his nose. "I thought you could come. Y'know, for the journey. And I want a second opinion on the place."

Marco was about to ask why he didn't ask his father, but decided it probably wasn't the best thing to ask. "Why do you need a second opinion?"

"W-well, if you're gonna come visit me you have to like the place too," Jean said, taking a sip of his coffee. He tried to be casual about it, but it ended up spilling on the table. "Cus you _are_ going to come visit me, right?" he asked, glancing up at him.

Marco laughed. "Of course I am! I just didn't think you'd want me there."

"Marco, I want you there. I think it'll help. Sorry if that's a little selfish, but… so long as your Mum doesn't need you around today, I don't think it should be so bad. The assessment shouldn't be long, I promise."

Marco wasn't sure. He wasn't keen on sitting in Jean's car for an hour staring about at the university that was not only way out of his league but something he wanted desperately to get into, but the look in Jean's eyes made him cringe. "Don't give me that look," he pleaded.

"What look?"

"Don't act all innocent, you know what look. The 'I'm a puppy and I've just been kicked' look."

Jean smiled angelically. "Come on. Road trip?"

Marco let out a sigh. "Why do I let you push me into things like this?" he complained, downing the remainder of his coffee and retreating upstairs to get ready.

"Must be the 'I'm a puppy and I've just been kicked' look I've perfected," Jean retorted with a smirk.

"Shut up."

The journey to the university wasn't as bad as Marco thought it would be; he had imagined being stuck on the same path forever, winding around and around woodland and wasteland and fields until he was sick to death of sheep and cows, but he and Jean kept talking for so much of it he barely had chance to notice the scenery. Jean talked about what he'd found out about the university, saying that it was a very elite proving ground for famous eventers and that some of the best in the discipline had trained there. "I mean, most of them got there because their families paid for it," he said as he swung his car around a particularly tight bend.

"People like me wouldn’t stand a chance, then,” Marco asked. He realised too late that his words sounded a little too serious.

"What do you mean by that?" Jean glanced at him. "People like you could get in fine, Marco, don’t be stupid. You wanna try for it?"

Marco squirmed in his seat and let out a sigh. "You know I couldn't do that."

"Well, you know all the material, you could waltz right in and-"

"No, Jean, it's not that." Marco ran a hand through his hair and kept his eyes on the road. "I can't leave my mum with all the work. She works so hard with me around, and without me I don't think she'd be able to cope."

"But you _would_ wanna study at a place like this?" Jean prompted.

Marco shrugged. "If it was a possibility then yeah, I probably would. But like I said, I can't leave mum on her own. She's already seen my father walk away from us- she doesn't need to see me walk away too."

Jean paused. “You can’t stay in one place forever, Marco. You need your independence too.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather have my mother happy. And I can’t even ride my own horse, what use would I be to a university?”

“Marco…”

“Jean, can we not?” Marco said, a little too sharp for comfort. He was already resigned to his fate- he didn’t need Jean rubbing it in even more.

Jean was silent for a while, and when the conversation picked up again afterwards they steered very far away from the subject of Marco enrolling. Marco was grateful, even though he could tell that Jean was itching to talk about it some more. _At least he has that much willpower_ , he thought to himself.

The signs soon began to show the directions to the campus, and after another sharp turn by Jean and a yelp of alarm by Marco, they caught sight of the campus for the first time. And Marco’s jaw dropped.

The prospectus hadn’t done it justice. Granted, it was a sunny day with no cloud to blot the view, but that didn’t matter. The main building looked like the front of a great mansion, its age and integrity clear just from the way parts of it looked ready to crumble away like biscuit crumb. There was a throng of students milling around outside, laughing and joking amongst themselves, all wearing the same black polo shirts and pale jodhpurs. Marco didn’t think his eyes could get any wider until Jean drove down to the car park and they spotted the actual facilities around the back. The stable block was indoor, but from the looks of things it housed more horses than Marco had ever seen in one place, and there were two large outdoor arenas facing each other. One had a selection of jumps still up from its last occupant, and the other was in use by someone clearly training their horse in Dressage. Marco watched, transfixed, as the horse’s stride sprang daintily from one hoof to another effortlessly, and he felt the familiar ache return. “Wow,” he breathed.

Jean nodded. “Yup.”

“This is…”

“Yeah. It is.”

“I want to be a horse,” Marco murmured.

Jean laughed. “What, why?”

“So I could live in a place like this.”

“Maybe we could throw a saddle on your back and see if they would take you.” Jean chuckled and unbuckled his seatbelt, still looking at the place ahead of them. “I didn’t think it would look like this,” he admitted quietly.

“Are you glad you came for the assessment now?” Marco asked.

Jean didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at everything, taking it all in. His mouth twisted into strange shapes, and Marco took that to mean that Jean was getting anxious at the sight of the campus- it was a little overbearing, after all. He reached out a hand and covered Jean’s in the middle of the car, a small smile on his face as he tried to unknot the grimace Jean had on his face. No matter how much it hurt that he wouldn’t stand a chance here, he could still be happy for Jean. He would be happy for him, and visit, and it would all be fine.

_But you won’t be here properly,_ the snide voice reminded him, _and you know you want it more than ever now you’ve seen it._

Marco blinked the thoughts away and squeezed Jean’s hand reassuringly. “Good luck for the assessment,” he said softly. “I know you’ll do fine.”

Jean looked at Marco for a moment, before his own smile appeared. It wasn’t a completely genuine smile, and it seemed pale in comparison to Marco’s beam, but it was a smile nonetheless. “You know what?” he said leaning in close to graze his lips against Marco’s. “I think I will do fine. I’ll think I’ll pass.”

“You _will,_ ” Marco said, giving him a parting peck on the lips, “and you’ll be the best. I know you will.”

“Sap,” Jean muttered, but pulled Marco close despite himself. Their kiss was soft, sweet, everything a kiss should be without the urgency of normal. Even Jean knew not to initiate anything in a public place.

For a moment, Marco forgot where they were, content to just keep kissing Jean until there was nothing left to kiss, until there was a hard tap on the window screen. Both of them jolted away from each other, Marco twitching so badly it was like a gun had gone off. There was a sour looking woman stood beside the car with an unamused expression on her face and her hands on her hips. The light bounced off her glasses as she tilted them up to give the both of them a hawk-like glare. “Hey, no making out in the car park,” she said, tapping on the glass again. “Where do you think you are, some shady overlook? What are you here for, you don’t look like any of my students.”

Jean couldn’t have looked more horrified if he tried. “Er, s-sorry, I was here for uh…”

“He’s here for the entrance exam,” Marco piped up before Jean could get his words out. “He wasn’t sure where he had to be.”

“Thought he’d find a map on your tonsils, did he?” The woman arched a brow at the pair of them, causing Marco to look away with a squirm of his stomach. “Nevermind, the entrance exam is being held in Walls Memorial building, just over there. I’ll get someone to escort you, if you’re incapable of following directions.”

Jean flushed even brighter as he exited the car, shoving his hands in his pockets as he did so, and Marco followed him out with an equally red face. “Y-you’ll be fine, just think positive okay?” Marco said, squeezing his hand again before finally releasing it. Jean gave a weak smile, a nod, and then he was gone, shepherded away by a hassled looking boy in a black and white jacket. Marco watched Jean’s retreating back for a few moments, a small sigh settling on his lips, before he heard a small cough come from behind him. He spun around to see the same pinched woman staring at him. “Er, s-sorry, is it okay if I wait for him?” he asked, wanting to fold his arms but knowing how rude it would probably have looked. “He’s just very nervous, he wanted me here.”

“You’re not here for an entrance exam?” she asked.

“N-no…”

“Huh. Weird.” She tilted her head to one side and squinted at him. “You look the type who would be. You know horses, kid?”

Marco nodded. “I live at a stables, I’ve been around them all my l-”

“Didn’t ask for your life story, can you groom?” When Marco gave her nothing but a blank stare, she rolled her eyes. “We’re short-staffed at the moment. Most of the students who work the yard are home for the summer, and that should mean their horses too, but that doesn’t mean the school horses don’t need attention. You want to keep busy or what?”

Marco shrugged. “I guess so,” he said.

It was only then that he got a flash of a smile, and all the sourness seemed to vanish from the woman’s face. He realised, then, that she wasn’t as old as he’d pinned her down as. Her hair may have been turning silver, but it was clearly doing so prematurely. “Good answer, kid. What’s your name?”

“Marco,” he said as he jogged to keep up with her.

“Ms. Brzenska, though I guess you can call me ‘Rico’ seeing as you’re not a student. Follow me, and try to keep up.” Rico led Marco along a line of stalls, all immaculately clean, and stopped before a curious palomino that was stood in cross-ties. The horse eyed Marco with a little worry, but when he approached with caution and gave it a gentle pat to reassure it, he felt the muscles beneath the golden coat relax. Rico picked up a grooming kit and brandished it at him. “Give her a good groom, Marco, whilst I see to Samson.”

Marco was going to ask who that was, but his question was answered when Rico vanished for a moment and came back leading a dark bay eventer with a thick neck and a broad head. “Samson,” she clarified for him, before tethering the horse and picking up a brush of her own. “By the way, don’t think I let guests do this all the time. I’m desperate, and you look like you know what you’re doing.”

“N-no, I didn’t think that at all, it’s okay,” Marco said, turning to the palomino. The hawk-eyed stranger was difficult to keep eye contact with- focusing on the horse made him feel much better. “I’d only have been stuck in the car waiting for Jean anyway, I, er, guess.”

“Jean? That your boyfriend?”

Marco paused halfway through a brush stroke, and smiled to himself. “Yeah, it is,” he said softly. Fondly. It felt good to say to someone outside of his usual circle. He wanted to tell anyone who would listen, he was that proud of it.

“You love him, huh?” he heard Rico ask, and he looked up to see her smiling back at him. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute. I wish I saw that kinda sap more often.”

Marco blushed and started brushing again. “I d-do, yeah. And he’s worked hard to get here, so I hope he does well.”

“You really mean that?”

Marco frowned. “O-of course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

“No reason.” Rico hummed a tune tonelessly under her breath and crouched down to pick up one of Samson’s hooves to pick. “I’ve just seen kids who want to come here before, Marco, and you can’t fool me. You want in bad, don’t you?”

Marco was tempted to lie. He was tempted to tell her that she’d made some sort of mistake, that he didn’t want to come here and that he was perfectly happy where he was, thank you very much, but then the ache happened again.

He sighed and looked around him. The awful thing was, he could see himself in a place like this. He could see himself leading Titan in from training in the arena, bedding him down in one of the ivory and black stalls and rubbing him down whilst gossiping with the other students milling around. He saw himself making friends, going out on rides in the autumn when the leaves were crisp and crunched underfoot and the world was full of oranges and reds. It was like something inside of him had already broken free and was perched on top of the university building wiggling its fingers at him. Everything felt familiar. He bit his lip and glanced at Rico again, an apologetic expression on his face.

Rico smiled. “I thought so. Why didn’t you apply?”

“I…” Marco sighed. “I couldn’t afford the fees.” He figured that was the best excuse to use.

“You do realise that your boyfriend’s applying for the scholarship, right? That’s why he’s doing the entrance exam.”

Marco blinked. “There are scholarships?” He hadn’t known that.

“What do they tell these kids, honestly.” Rico rolled her eyes. “There are 10 places that are solely for scholarship applicants. It’d cover the cost of your tuition and your horse fees. You’d have to apply for loans for your accommodation and living costs, but loans are loans. Don’t have to pay them off for a while.” Rico winked. “It’s worth a shot, if you’re that interested.”

Marco frowned, staring down at the palomino coat. This was cruel. It was like the knife in his gut was being twisted around and around until his intestines were all shredded. It was giving him _hope_ , and that wasn’t fair. He let out a sigh. “I want to, but I can’t. Maybe next year.”

Rico looked like she wanted to say more, but decided against it and moved to the next hoof in need of picking, muttering something to herself. Marco was glad that he couldn’t hear her. He instead threw himself into grooming the horse before him, switching the brushes every now and again to make sure he got every speck of dirt out of her coat. He wasn’t sure why he was putting such an effort in; it was either a ploy to kill time, or to impress Rico. He wanted to believe it was the first reason, but he knew deep down it was the latter.

After a long time of snatched conversation and dogged determination, the palomino he was grooming was gleaming with how clean she was. Marco stood back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile springing onto his face. Rico, too, stopped what she was doing. “Not bad, kid, not bad at all,” she said, clearly impressed. “I’ve never seen her look so neat and tidy before.”

Marco smiled modestly. “W-well I’ve prepared horses for shows for years. If I couldn’t get a horse clean I’d be ashamed of myself.”

Rico let out a whistle of admiration, dropping her brush and running a hand over the unmarked coat. “She looks stunning. Thanks a lot, kid. I’m sure she appreciates it too.” She then checked her watch. “Well, it’s been an hour. Your boyfriend should be out now.”

Marco felt a jolt to his system. _Jean. How had he got on? Had he remembered everything?_ He set the brush back down in the grooming kit and gave Rico a feeble wave. “It was nice to meet you,” he said. _Despite the fact you gave me an existential crisis, thanks a lot for that one._

“You too, Marco,” Rico smiled, stepping forward to shake his hand. “And good luck with everything. I want to see you again soon, alright?”

Marco’s smile was forced as he glanced back to the horses, who were watching him inquisitively. He was almost out of earshot before he turned back, realising something. “Oh, I forgot to ask what her name is,” he said, feeling rude somehow for not swapping formalities with the animal.

Rico grinned. “She’s called Faith,” she said, “and I think that’s all you have to have.”

Her words rang in his head like tinny alarm bells as he walked back to the car, a frown on his face and hands plunged into his pockets. However nice she was trying to be, Marco was sure he’d need a little more than just faith to get him into the list of students passing through the university gates in the turn of the next academic year.

 

* * *

 

Jean had done well.

He couldn’t stop talking about it for the entire ride back to Jinae, commenting on how easy the questions were and how he managed to worm in a few paragraphs about the importance on culture or themes of parenthood or anything that sounded scholarly without sounding like he’d spat out an encyclopaedia, and with every word he said the brighter his smile became. Marco tried to smile along with him, reminding himself that he was happy for Jean, that he deserved to do well, that going to the university would be the best option for someone like him. But then his own thoughts got in the way, blocking the path of positivity like brick walls.

If Jean noticed, he didn’t say anything, but Marco figured he was too caught up in his own headspace. He only tuned in properly when Jean had thanked him for his help, and he really did smile then. He’d even leaned over to plant a small kiss on Jean’s cheek, which had almost made Jean swerve into a tree and Marco avoid all physical contact with him until they were back at the stables and stationary. When Jean had mentioned that the horses still needed exercising, Marco knew exactly where to take them.

He rode Sina, and reluctantly let Jean ride Titan. The black gelding still fought the bit, and plunged a little in the initial stages, but Jean managed to gather him okay and kept him under control as they trotted along the canopied path, the dirt turning to dust in the heat of the past few days. Jean’s eyes lit up when he realised where they were turning. “We’re going back to the beach?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Marco chuckled. “Why not? We have the time, and it’s a good reward for the studying we were doing.”

“ _We_ were doing?”

“Jean, you know I know your material just as well as you do.”

“Fair point.”

Marco was getting used to the feel of Sina by now; the mare was still a little uncomfortable to ride, as he was used to horses with far more muscle, but he was beginning to learn her nervous ticks and quirks. He knew that every time her left ear twitched, it meant she had heard something she was unsure of. If she sidestepped closer to Titan, she felt like she needed protecting. Titan watched her intently, his attention mainly on her and not the path he was travelling down, and Marco was relieved that they didn’t bump into any dogs coming their way.

The beach was just as empty as it had been when they had come before, and Marco immediately turned in his saddle to watch Titan. Jean stared blankly back at him. “Wh-what?”

“Just… Titan likes the beach,” Marco said with a shy smile, “so watch out.”

“What do you mea-”

Titan’s head shot up the moment his hooves hit the sand, the soft scrunch underfoot a different texture to the hard concrete of before, and a loud rumble rippled through him like the beginnings of an earthquake before he began to fight for his head, tossing it high in the air and trying to bolt forward. “Hey, hey, hey!” Jean scolded, pulling him back with a few sharp half-halts and a tut. “You’re not going anywhere, Bumble!” Titan let out a loud neigh and looked back to Marco, his eyes almost pleading.

Marco laughed and moved Sina over to join them, the mare moving a little less enthusiastically onto the sand. When she stood beside Titan it really showed how large he was; from his place atop Titan, Jean could have easily used Sina as a stepping stone to the ground. “So you’re okay with riding Titan, but not Garrison who is much less likely to buck you off?” Marco asked with a teasing grin.

Jean huffed. “Titan never bucked me off, I dismounted,” he answered haughtily.

“It was an emergency dismount.”

“Garrison has big hooves that could crush my head, alright?”

Marco laughed again, and clicked to Sina with his tongue. “Better make sure you beat us pipsqueaks then!” he called over his shoulder as Sina broke into a jaunty trot, before he asked for a canter. The sudden thunder of hooves behind him riled Sina into her final gear as she leapt into a furious gallop along the beach, neck stretched out and ears flicking back as she listened for the black demon that was soon racing up her tail, Jean’s whoops only encouraging Titan on. Marco tried to urge Sina faster, but the mare was slowing, slackening her pace so that she was galloping nose to nose with Titan, the two bodies almost in sync as they surged forward with power in their limbs and lightning crackling beneath their feverishly pounding hooves. They raced like that along the beach for the entire length, before turning back and trotting the pair to calm them down, Titan snorting and blowing with glee and Sina flicking her tail to ward off the meagre flies emerging for the evening.

Marco and Jean tethered them at the same piece of driftwood they had before (with Jean checking this time that it was not light enough to be dragged away or snapped) and sunk into the sand, curling around each other like cats. Jean took pleasure in landing small kisses like rain across Marco’s cheeks just to make him blush. Marco finally wriggled free of the teasing and instead laid his head on Jean’s chest, idly watching the waves crashing ahead of them. “I am proud of you, you know,” he said after a while, tilting his head up to look at Jean. “I know you weren’t keen on going to the entrance exam, but you did, and I think that was good of you.” He sighed and snuggled in closer. “You’ll do well there.”

“So would you.”

Marco closed his eyes. “Jean, please…”

“I mean it. You would.”

“You’ve only seen me ride for a month or so, Jean.” Marco offered him a weak smile. “It’s sweet of you, but I’ll like it just as much when I come to visit you there.” _Lies, Marco, lies,_ he thought to himself. _You were the one who told Jean not to lie, remember? And now look what you’re doing._

Jean’s chest rose heavily as he sighed, but he just played with the hair at the back of Marco’s neck instead of answering. Maybe Jean knew, Marco thought. Maybe he understood. “Levi wants to train you,” Jean said after a while.

Marco frowned. “Levi? Why?” he asked, arching his head to look up at Jean.

Jean rolled his eyes. “Because, shockingly, he thinks you have some potential. And I think he likes you. Or your dick, either way.”

Marco gave Jean a headbutt and returned to his previous place. “Shut up! You _know_ that was an accident.”

“Never know, you could be a secret exhibitionist.” Marco could hear the grin in Jean’s voice as his fingers ruffled through his hair.

He snorted. “Yeah, like that makes sense. I feel uncomfortable around people but flashing them, yeah, that I can do.”

“Your sarcasm’s improving.”

“Shut up.”

Jean laughed and planted a small kiss on Marco’s temple. “Don’t strop at me, baby, it’s true.”

Marco found it odd how much he melted at the name ‘baby’ now. He had hated it before, but now… now it didn’t feel as cheesy. Or maybe it did, and his taste was changing. Whatever it was, the warmth that spread through his chest was welcoming. He nuzzled in closer, inhaling the familiar musk Jean gave off with a smile, and replied, “Mm, maybe it is. But you’re changing the subject, Levi wanted to train me?”

“Yeah, for the competition at the Academy.” Jean paused. “You are still competing, right?”

Marco hesitated, and then gave a resigned nod. “I don’t think I have much choice, do I? Are the others allowed to compete too?”

“Yup, they’re all signed up.” Jean chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you riding Titan again, Marco, it’s gonna be great.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Marco mumbled, but Jean didn’t hear him. He had to admit, the thought of getting back into Titan’s saddle was… sort of exhilarating to think about. His eyes wandered over to where the horses were tethered and let them land on his horse. Titan was watching the ocean, his ears pricked and mane blowing back in the slight breeze, and Marco let a smile grace his face. He was beautiful.

A buzz in Jean’s pocket startled them both. Marco let out a little nervous laughter and pulled away to give Jean room to retrieve his phone, and took the opportunity to glance at his own phone. “It’s getting late, we should get back,” he said, getting to his feet with a grunt. “I’ll get the horses ready.”

“Yeah, sure…” Jean was staring intently at his phone, a small frown appearing on his face as he read the message.

Marco rolled his eyes and untethered Sina and Titan, making sure to check the girths for tightness before he ran the stirrups down. He had finished with Titan and was almost done with Sina by the time Jean joined him. “Wow, it took you that long to reply to a message? That’s weird for yo-” Marco’s words stopped abruptly when he turned and saw Jean’s face. All colour had drained from it, and the strange large eyes were back. He felt himself go cold. “What is it?” he asked, the joking replaced with urgency.

“Nothing,” Jean said. Too quick. Too breezy. Too normal. “It’s nothing.”

“Jean, come on.” Marco took a step closer. “What is it?”

“It’s _nothing_ , Marco, _you_ come on. We gotta get back, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Jean took Titan’s reins from him and mounted with some difficulty, righting himself atop the gelding’s back and looking down at him. “Come on then. We better get back.”

Marco frowned, but mounted Sina without another word uttered in Jean’s direction. Titan’s ears were back and his head up, his walk from the beach snappier and more out of sync than normal, and Marco could tell it was due to how tensely Jean was sat on his back. Marco kept his grip on Sina’s reins tight as the mare danced forward to copy her large companion, and gave Jean a pained look. Jean looked wretchedly back. “I’ll tell you,” he promised him in a weak voice.

Marco kept the frown the entire walk back, and hoped against hope that his screaming instincts about what had silenced Jean were wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's eatin ya Jean? >.>
> 
> I have to add that the whole "introducing Sawney to Titan" is probably not the best idea, but I used it with artistic license, and I have actually seen instances where stallions and geldings have got on okay together so yah. 
> 
> Also I see Sawney a lot like this: http://wildhorsephotos.net/Sanctuaries/content/bin/images/large/fsbhwh10_05_23.jpg Obviously though, as this is a Mustang, he'd be a heck of a lot bigger to contend with Titan's height ;3; but that sort of ragged savagery right thar.


	22. No Fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this update was a long time coming, sorry about that. I'm super tired from graduation and I'm just about to flop so if there are any errors then please be gentleeeee.   
> Also, yes. You are probably not going to like this chapter because it is a bit...angsty. And frustrating. To say the least. But please be nice *whimpers*
> 
> In which we find out who texted Jean at the end of the last chapter, Titan becomes more of a wonderhorse than he already is and I think Marco shakes/trembles/quakes more than he ever does. Bodes well, huh? 
> 
> Again, feedback is super appreciated! :) I might double check this through tomorrow when I feel a little more awake, but enjoy anywho. As much as you can...
> 
> My tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/

Marco didn’t have to wait long for answers.

They had put the horses away and rubbed them down before heading for the house. Marco had wanted to go to the kitchen, but Jean’s insistent hand wrapped around his wrist and forced him up the stairs, and who was he to complain? Before he knew it, they were back in his room, one thing leading to another and clothes flying off and landing in various places around the room. Marco was soon sat against his headboard with Jean straddling his lap, tangled in each other’s heat and panting heavily. Marco scattered kisses across Jean’s heaving collarbones whilst Jean clung tight to him, rocking gently in his grip. “Marco,” Jean breathed, his voice hitching when Marco dragged his tongue up the length of Jean’s throat. “Marco, I love yo- ngn.” He pushed himself closer.

Marco chuckled. “What was that? Didn’t quite hear you.” He suckled on Jean’s collarbone slyly, loving the way he shuddered under his mouth.

“F-fuck off,” Jean replied, ducking his head against Marco’s. “You know what I was going to s-say.”

“I know. I just like hearing you say it.” Marco skimmed his arms down to Jean’s waist, wrapping them around him securely and pulling him into his lap further.

Jean let out a small whimper at the movement. “Fuck, alright, I love you.”

Marco laughed. “I love you too, you idiot.”

He felt Jean kiss the side of his neck, but at the sound of a text alert everything changed. Jean froze, his limbs clamping around Marco like he was afraid it was a dream, and his head turned to the illuminated phone on the bedside table. Marco sighed. He peeled himself from Jean and looked up at him. The mood was definitely gone. “Jean, what is it?” he asked.

Jean frowned, his eyes avoiding Marco as he chewed on his lip. “Would you still love me if I just let us sit in awkward silence and pretend this never happened?”

Marco arched a brow at him. “Well… I would, but I’d be annoyed. Please, Jean. Tell me.”

Jean sighed and leant back, washing a hand over his face. “Earlier on, my phone… a-actually, can I just-?” He snatched the phone from the table and unlocked it, his own face cast in an ethereal light as he read the message. Marco saw his entire body slump. “Yup, there we are, there he goes again.”

“Who?”

Jean’s mouth quirked downwards as he tapped a furious message back, eyes narrowing the longer he was typing. Marco didn’t want to wait; his anxiety was mounting higher and higher, so that the small rolling hill was fast becoming a sharp peak. He didn’t want it to be Marlow. Dear God, he hoped that it wasn’t Marlow. He wasn’t sure why, but he was expecting it to be him. He found himself wishing that he and Jean had had longer, that they could have had time to fully appreciate being free of Marlow, but he had felt strangely resigned to the fact that it would happen. It had to. It had only been a matter of time, and it made him sick to his stomach to think of it.

His stomach settled, however briefly, when Jean replied, “it’s my Dad,” in a dead tone.

“O-oh?” Marco found his hands drifting downwards, drawing soft circles on Jean’s more-prominent-than-normal hip bones that poked out from his underwear. He hadn’t heard much about Jean’s dad. He knew the basics, obviously; he and Jean didn’t get on, period, and Jean didn’t agree with a lot of things his father believed wholeheartedly in, but that was about as far as Jean went in explaining their strained relationship. Marco thought back to that first meeting, and how Jacques Kirschtein had stormed over to his son with fire exploding from every sharp corner of him. He remembered how pale Jean had gotten. He gulped. “What is he saying?” he asked tentatively.

“Well, at the moment he’s…” Jean’s voice trailed off. He sighed. “You really wanna know?” There was less of a beaten look to his eyes when he talked about his father; it was a far cry from the hollow look he adopted whenever Marlow was involved, but it still wasn’t a comforting one. When Marco nodded, he sighed and read the message aloud. “ ‘I’ve just seen the sign-up sheet. How dare you sign up the Bodt riff raff you spineless good for nothing’,” he quoted, sighing dramatically. “Pure poetry.”

Marco frowned. The words punched a hole in his chest. What father would say that to his own son? Maybe it was true that Marco lived in a romantic, pink-tinted world, but one thing he was always getting wrong was the importance of family. Even though his own father had vanished, Marco still had the feeling that he had his reasons. He didn’t do it out of pure malice, despite what his mother thought. That didn’t mean he wasn’t angry or sore about the whole situation- he was, and would be for a long time- but when he had been around, his father had tried. But Jean’s… Jean’s wasn’t trying at all. He was pushing his son away with little idea of the consequences that came with it, and it was almost infuriating for Marco to hear. “Wh-what did you send back?” he ended up asking, his hands stilling on Jean’s hips.

Jean handed him the phone wordlessly, and Marco blinked at not only the colourful language but the taunting ‘:P’ that accompanied it all.

He exhaled slowly. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“And that doesn’t… bother you?”

Jean shrugged. “Well, it used to, but now it’s just normal. Like I said, Dad and I stopped getting on after Mum left.”

“But you said that was when you were little!”

Jean blinked at him. “…Yeah, I was a brat and he was a dickhead, nothing much changes.”

Marco stopped. He let out a sigh. He shuffled further down the bed, only to flop onto it fully with a grunt. “I don’t understand him,” he said finally.

“And you think I do?” Jean shifted so that he was lying on top of Marco, his chin resting on his folded arms on Marco’s chest. “It’s only a matter of time, you know.”

“Before what?”

Jean made a pained expression. “Before he kicks me out of the house.”

Marco nearly bolted upright. “Jean! He can’t _do_ that!” he cried.

“H-hey, calm down-”

“No I won’t! Jean, he’s your _Dad_ , he can’t!”

Jean snorted bitterly. “You don’t know him. He can and he will. Especially because of the stunt I pulled with my assessment.”

Marco’s hands fell from his hips. “What?” Jean really did turn pale then; so pale, in fact, that he resembled a very thin, very worried piece of paper. “Jean, you said you’d done okay on the assessment,” Marco said, the worry stealing back into his thoughts.

“I-I did!” Jean defended. “I swear, I did great, I did fucking fantastic!”

“Then what about the assessment?”

Jean didn’t answer.

“ _JEAN._ ”

“Look, my dad’s pissed off because I took the wrong entrance exam, alright?” Jean folded his arms and glared down at Marco, heat returning to his cheeks. “I took the wrong exam. I took the one for the scholarship. He wanted to pay for me, but there was no way in hell I was going to let myself owe him a penny more than what I already do.” He held up a hand the moment Marco’s mouth opened to respond. “Wait, there’s more, and if I don’t get it out now I won’t ever, so wait. He’s annoyed because I’m spending time with you, and I’ve stopped coming back for training, and that I prefer Buchwald over Sina despite the fact Sina is better at jumping and Waldy’s more like a giraffe than a horse and that Levi came to the yard to help you out…” Jean let out a huge, pent up sigh and stared down at the freckles speckling the skin around Marco’s navel. “He doesn’t like a lot of the things I do, really.”

Marco let one of his hands drift up to cup Jean’s face, his own expression remaining as neutral as he could as he replied, “I don’t think your Dad appreciates the things you do enough, Jean.” Jean closed his eyes at the contact and brought his own hand up to cover Marco’s, turning his head to kiss each fingertip pad by pad.

At that moment, Marco realised something about Jean that he hadn’t let himself think before. Jean’s consciousness, his self- hating, his constant feelings of inadequacy, weren’t solely down to being with Marlow. They were to do with his father. The idea that it was a parent that quashed Jean’s passion, his drive, his _everything_ , was a strange thing to try to grasp. So he just held Jean, and held him tight, and hoped that it made things better. He wasn’t sure it would, but he had to try. “Is that who texted you earlier, too?” he asked.

Jean nodded. “He wanted to call me, and when Dad wants to do that then you know something’s seriously wrong. I’ve fucked up _bad_.”

“Have you called him?” Jean made a face in answer. Marco sighed. “Jean, you have to.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” Marco sighed and trailed a hand up and down Jean’s spine gently, soothingly. “It might not help, but it’s the right thing to do. If you don’t, it will only get worse.”

Jean didn’t respond for a while, and his eyes slid shut as he heaved out a shaky sigh. He became so quiet that Marco thought he might have fallen asleep. But then his eyes opened. “I’ll call him,” he said. His voice didn’t sound so sure.

Marco gave him a soft smile and pulled him closer, kissing him with a chaste sort of sweetness. “It will be okay,” he said. “I promise.”

Jean shook his head, wriggling out of Marco’s grip and rising from the bed. “This isn’t something you can promise, Marco.” His voice sounded odd. Strained. Jean sounded worse than when he was talking about Marlow in a strange way. So, when he shuffled out of Marco’s room to get privately shouted at by his father, Marco felt the trembles of worry work their way into his system. _Maybe_ , he thought, _I’ve given him the wrong advice. Maybe I got it wrong._

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, Marco was almost certain he had gotten it wrong. He had got it so, so wrong.

Jean hadn’t told him what his father had said. He hadn’t come back to Marco’s room for a few hours, and when he finally did he engulfed him in the biggest hug he could muster, knocking the breath out of Marco. He hadn’t shaken or sobbed, or cried at all. But that was what made Marco worried. Jean, contrary to popular belief, was more open with his emotions than he ever liked to admit. Once he was comfortable with someone, they saw everything about him. But now, he was just numb. Now the barriers were back, thrown up like makeshift defences and leaving Marco blinking and confused on the other side.

They were still training together for the Trost competition, but Jean seemed distracted. After Levi returned to the yard to let Sawney loose in Titan’s paddock for the third or fourth time, he stayed to watch the small workout the two were doing, brows knitted in concentration. Marco felt even more conscious of his riding when Levi was around, especially when he was riding Jester and the cob was throwing sulky bucks every now and again to try to catch him out.

He soon found out that he wasn’t the one Levi was worried about. Every time he swept past the trainer, Levi’s eyes were on Jean- and for good reason. Jean was sat stiff in the saddle, barely moving when Sina cantered towards the jumps and popped over them with ease. The mare’s ears were back and she was tossing her head with annoyance at how tightly Jean was gripping the reins. Marco frowned. Jean wasn’t working with her anymore. There was no symmetry, no blurring of boundary between horse and rider. Jean was very clearly there, a rude outline drawn around his stiff posture as Sina fought to move like she used to. She seemed just as confused as Marco and Levi. But when Marco asked about it later, when they were dismounted and grooming the horses in the yard, Jean shrugged loosely. “Guess I lost it back there,” he mumbled.

“You’re not going to get into that school of yours if you don’t buck up your fucking ideas, Kirschtein,” Levi sneered.

Jean flinched as though he’d been hit, but retreated behind Sina in response. Marco’s heart, if it was even possible, sank further.

Levi demanded that Jean come back for one of the Trost Academy training sessions that weekend, and Jean didn’t seem to have any energy to refuse. Marco barely saw him that week; Jean threw himself heart and soul into teaching, and even his students sensed that something was wrong. When Mina clattered into the yard on a heavily panting Pegasus, she complained, “Jean was grumpy today. He made me work in no stirrups because I was talking, and now my legs hurt!”

Marco looked back to the ménage where Jean was slumped against the fence, washing a hand over his face, and felt a stab of something hit him sharply.

No matter how hard he tried, Jean wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. Marco knew that it was to do with the phonecall with his father, but Jean was stubborn. He was silent and stubborn. And who was Marco to press him? _You’re his boyfriend,_ he reminded himself. _You’re meant to be the one he trusts._

What was infuriating was that the affection wasn’t lost in their day to day lives. Jean still kissed him, still hugged him, still held him. But every movement felt desperate, intense, like he was grasping for something he couldn’t quite reach. It felt _final._

The day Jean left for training, Marco called up Armin. “Can you come over?” he asked.

“Sure, I’m just finishing up at the shop. Is something wrong?”

Marco bit his lip. “I think so…”

Armin’s reply was curt and to the point. “Give me half an hour.”

Half an hour later, Armin was huffing and puffing into the yard and nearly crashed into Marco with Raven’s saddle balanced over his shoulder.

“BAH!”

“S-sorry!!” Armin stepped aside to let Marco slide the saddle onto the waiting mare, smiling a little sheepishly. “I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time…”

Marco let out a scoffing noise that reminded him of Jean. “Armin, that’s _my_ line.”

Armin laughed softly. “Not lately, it isn’t.” His face fell as Marco turned back to Raven, that stabbing pain returning with a vengeance. “What is it, Marco?”

Marco sighed and reached under Raven’s stomach to grab the girth. “How long do you have?” he joked weakly.

“I have enough time.”

Marco walked away from Raven to see Armin staring at him with a deep frown. His breath caught in his chest. He didn't have to pretend with Armin. Armin understood. He would let him ramble on and on and sit there unblinking and unjudging, and that was exactly what he needed at that moment. He let his inhibitions drop as Armin stepped in close and gave him a tight, reassuring hug. "It's alright," Armin said softly, "you can tell me. What's wrong?"

Marco hesitated, but the arms around him felt so sure, so comforting that he knew that he could tell him anything. "J-Jean..." he eventually managed to get out, his throat feeling thick with how much he was trying to hold himself back from crying all over the other boy. "I don't know what's wrong, Armin, and he won't t-tell me..."

Armin squeezed him tighter. "Okay," he said after a minute, "okay, let's sit down and you tell me all about it. And don't skip on any of the parts, because believe me I'll know."

And that's what they did. Marco felt like he had turned on a rusty old tap and suddenly all the words were rushing out, flooding him with all the emotion he'd wanted to feel but had been keeping to himself. The anger, the frustration, the worry, it all came spilling out and Armin was there to drink it all in, nodding in the right places and frowning in others. He told him about Marlow, leaving out a few of the more choice things Jean had confided to him; he told him about Jean's father, and how he wanted to force Jean into a cookie-cutter mould that Jean just wasn't; he even told him about the university, and about how badly he realised he wanted to go when Jean didn't seem that keen at all. When he had finished, Armin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "That's... quite a conundrum you've got there," he said.

Marco nodded. "I just want him to be okay again. I don't care what happens to make that work, but I can't... I don't like seeing this side of him, Armin. I don't know what to do, and I think I might have messed up along the way."

"Well, you haven't done that." Armin gave him a reassuring smile. "You've been so good for Jean, you have no idea. Before he met you, he was nice, sure, but he wasn't nearly so open with everyone. He got into more fights, and he was a little surly when he didn't get his own way. But you changed him for the better, and I think he's changed you too, even though you don't notice it yourself." Armin looked out along the paddocks, watching the horses grazing there with little stress or concern in their lives. "I think you just need to give Jean some time. He's got a lot of issues to work out, and sometimes you can't help with them. It's something Jean has to do on his own. You just have to be there for him to fall back on."

"He's not telling me what's wrong, though. How am I meant to be there for him when I don't know why I'm there in the first place?"

Armin shrugged. "Remember what I said? Jean lies for a good reason. He lied about the bruises because he didn't want to get you involved, or upset you. He lied about the exams because he didn't want you to judge him. Jean Kirschtein is a top class liar, but he does it with good intentions."

Marco sighed and drew his good knee up to his chest, locking his fingers around it as he let his gaze follow Armin's across the paddocks. He didn't care whether Jean was doing it for a good reason. He was meant to be the person Jean could confide in, could tell anything to without feeling like he was going to be mocked or rejected, but Marco just felt ignored now. _Jean needs to do this on his own_ , Armin's words echoed in his ear. _You need to let him._

He sighed again and looked back to Armin. "Thanks. I mean, it's hard for me to talk about stuff like this without sounding like an idiot. But you just put up with it."

Armin snorted. "I should get a medal."

"I'll find you one."

"Deal."

They sat together in silence for a while, the wind picking up around them and making the doors of empty stalls bang shut in the force. Jinae's summer was coming to a close; the good weather never did hold up for very long. Soon enough it would be time to scrabble funds together for the winter hay and feed, and a few blankets would have to be replaced before the wind got truly harsh. And by then, Jean would be gone, off to whichever university or college he got into and Marco would be alone again. Even Armin would be heading back home to Trost, his hours at the bookshop used up. Would it go back to how it had been before, with Marco dodging the over-16s and keeping to himself? Would he go back to avoiding Titan because every glance he spared the gelding made him think of Jean? He shook away the melancholy feeling that was threatening to seep over him and let his eyes refocus on the fields.

At that moment, he caught a set of shadowy shapes lurking on the edge of Titan's paddock. His eyes narrowed. They were too big to be anything like a dog, and too individual to be a stray horse. They looked... _human_.

"Marco?" he heard Armin ask. "Marco, what is it?"

"I think there are people in the paddock," Marco replied, his eyes not moving from the spot. What was he meant to do if there were? His mother was calling on Erwin and then running errands in the village; she wouldn't be back for another hour. _They were probably just hikers who got lost_ , he thought as he rose to his feet. Probably just that. People got lost on the tracks every day, seeing as they all looked the same and often ended up in completely different directions. But then the figures seemed to catch sight of Titan and Sawney grazing in the corner of their paddock. They were stood under Titan’s favourite tree, and were paying no attention to the visitors, the twin black shapes side by side and calm. And the figures’ direction changed.

Marco stood up, the wind catching the hem of his shirt and sending a thrill of cold air up his spine. They were walking _towards_ the horses. All thoughts of lost hikers vanished in an instant. “Armin, can you call my Mum?” he asked. _Something_ _isn’t_ _right_ , his instincts were screaming at him. _Something isn’t right and you have to see what’s going on._

Armin had tuned in already. He could tell from the way Marco stood that something was going on. “Sure, I’ll go call her now,” he said. “Are you gonna be oka-?”

“I’ll be fine, it’s the people in the paddock I’m more worried about. Use the house phone, and… could you stay inside until she turns up?”

Armin nodded. “Okay. But if she doesn’t come back soon I’m calling the police.”

Marco bit his lip. He didn’t want it to get that far, but he guessed he had no choice.  Armin's hand brushed his as he turned to walk back to the house. "Be careful," he said, with a warmth Marco recognised. "I don't think anyone would forgive you for rushing in without thinking." He gave a weak smile, and Marco watched as he half-jogged around the corner to where the house phone was waiting.

Marco turned back to the paddock and inhaled deeply.

Had to be brave.

Couldn't leave this to chance.

Needed to be calm.

He squared his shoulders as best he could, and strode towards the fence. His leg twinged now and again, but Marco ignored it. He only had eyes for the people walking towards his horse, and the many intentions they had bumping around his head like flies on a window pane. He could make out three shapes now of varying heights, and as he ducked under the fence he saw one reach their hand out as though beckoning the two horses forward. Titan looked up from grazing, ears pricked in their direction, but Sawney chose to ignore them. Marco was thankful for that, in a way; whatever they were doing there, if they got Sawney riled up he dreaded to think what the stallion would do.

He moved across the grass as quietly as he could in a bid not to startle the horses, but also to sneak up on the people without them noticing. As he got closer, he saw the one of them, the smaller, was a girl, and she was looking far more uncomfortable than the other two. "Boris, I don't think this is a good idea," she warned, her voice... strangely familiar. Marco felt a pang as he recognised the girl from the showgrounds. The one on the dapple grey. Annie... was that her name? The cold look to her face was lost now; now she just looked scared. Plain scared.

"I never thought this was a good idea," her companion whispered. "B-but I didn't want to do this anymore than you did."

"Shut up, will you?"

Marco went cold. The third person was facing away from him, but his harsh voice and odd undercut hit home like a punch to the gut. **_Marlow_**. When he turned back to confront Annie, his eyes were narrowed in a gargoyle-like snarl. He was swaying a little, and Marco realised that he had been drinking. There was the same edge to his voice that he had heard the first night he’d met him, and it sent a chill to him. "If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked for it."

"You don't want anyone's opinion," Annie sneered. "You just have your own agenda and get cheap thrills from bringing others into your shit. I am this close to running into the yard right now and raising the ala-"

Her voice was cut off as Marlow lunged with surprising speed given his state. Marco lowered himself further when he saw Marlow grab the girl by the neck, his lip curled so high he could see the pink of his gums. "You dare do anything and I'll make sure everyone knows about you and your little protein pills."

Annie was choking. She gave Marlow a ferocious glare and kicked out with her legs, but he steered clear with a mocking laugh. "Come on, sweetness, you can do better than that," he slurred, releasing her, and she fell to her knees with sharp gasps. "I needed you here because I needed someone who knows horses." He turned to look in Titan's direction. Marco's chest clenched as he saw his horse watching the group, tail flicking between his legs idly. He didn't have any fear of people, not without knowing them first. He might have even recognised Marlow from when Marco had hit him, but the only sign that he was nervous was that an ear fell back in interest. "I wanna know just where I can put this-" he pulled something out from underneath his jacket "- so that his horse can't ever work again."

Annie's eyes visibly widened. "I'm not going to let you lame that horse. No way in hell. You're sick. You need fucking help."

Marco's heart was pounding. He hadn't even seen what Marlow had shown Annie, but everything told him that it wasn't going to be good. Marlow gave a dry smirk and gave Annie a shove. "Fine, then. Fuck off home, little bird. I'll just keep cutting until his legs are ribbons, won't I?"

Marco couldn't take it anymore. The moment Marlow took a step towards Titan, he stood up. He yelled. He flapped his arms. Titan's head shot up. His eyes locked on Marco. With a loud neigh, he spooked, his entire body launching itself away from the noise and hooves pounding into the soil. Unfortunately, this also got Sawney's attention. With a squeal of surprise he charged after Titan, nipping his companion to keep him running as he broke into a furious gallop. Marlow let out a loud shout and curse as the horses bolted, and whipped his head around to hone in directly on Marco. His eyes narrowed. "You," he hissed.

Marco glared right back at him. He was terrified. He was shaking, every inch of him quaking madly, but he was also furious. His leg twinged. His pulse thudded heavily in his chest. His fists, he found, were clenched by his sides as he stood there, glaring them down. _Now what?_ he found himself thinking. “S-stay away from my horse,” he said, inwardly cringing at how much he stumbled over the words. Immediately, all thoughts of being threatening vanished.

Annie looked horrified. Her eyes were darting between the two of them, widening ever so slightly the more she did it, and then she suddenly said, “You didn’t tell me it was this guy, Marlow.” The guilt that passed over her face almost made Marco soften.

Marlow ignored her. Instead, he took a step closer to Marco, a smirk weaving its way back onto his face. It was a shark-like, predatory smirk, and it took Marco all of the strength he had not to step back. “Well, well, well, look who we have here,” Marlow sneered, staggering a little as he moved forward. “Going for a little walk in the dusk, were we?”

Marco’s fists tightened. “Stay away from my horse,” he repeated, firmer this time.

Marlow’s smirk widened. “He’s a handsome old thing, isn’t he? Your horse? Why don’t you call him over so we can say hello?” he asked.

Marco let his eyes glance over to Titan, and saw that Sawney had herded him into a corner and was stood watching the proceedings, barricading the gelding from whatever was going on. He had to hand it to the stallion- he knew when there was danger about. Marco turned back to Marlow and his smirk. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not going near him, and if you do I swear to God I’ll-”

“You’ll what, exactly? Hit me again?” Marlow laughed. “Come on now, Marco, we both know you don’t have it in you. Only reason you punched me last time was because fucking precious Kirschtein was in the middle.”

Marco bristled. “Don’t presume you know me.”

Marlow laughed again. “Honestly, Marco, don’t you ever quit? Stop trying to sound like you’re gonna fucking rip my throat out because we know it’s not gonna happen.” Marlow shook his head slowly, as though he was disappointed in Marco for even trying. “You have _nothing_ to threaten me with,” he said, his voice taking on a rather dangerous edge as he stepped closer. This time, Marco did step back. Marlow was beginning to sound dangerously sober, and that was a problem. A big problem. “My uncle will smooth everything over with the police if you call them, it’s three against one if you want to try to fight me and from what I can see-” He swept a hand around the paddock with the same toothy smirk, “you are all on your own out here.” The hand tucked back into his jeans pocket. “What’s the matter, is Precious not here to protect you?”

Marco realised, with mounting horror, that Marlow was right. He was powerless. What could he possibly do at that moment, stood on his own against not only Marlow but Marlow and two other people? His bravado started to slip. His tightly clenched fists began to cut red crescents into his palm as he tried to stop them from shaking.

_You are all on your own out here._

He tried to get angry. He tried to get so furious, so _incensed_ that he could use it as ammunition to strike out, but all he got was the white blankness of fear that seemed to coat him like a waterfall. He gulped.

“M-Marlow, just leave,” he said in a lower tone of voice, refusing to break the other boy’s gaze. “You’ve done enough, just go.”

Marlow grinned. “I don’t think so. You know what I’m gonna do, you little shit? I’m gonna go right up to your horse, and I’m gonna nick him. It won’t be a big wound, it won’t hurt him too much, but he won’t be able to be ridden again. Annie here knows where to do it,” he motioned to the blonde, who immediately averted her eyes, “and then, _you_ are going to have _your_ life ruined.”

Marco shook his head, the horror pooling in his stomach like thawing ice. He never knew Marlow would go to such a length. He wasn’t playing with just Jean’s life now; he was playing with Marco’s, with Titan’s, and that was something that even Marco didn’t think he would sink to. Titan was innocent in all of it, and he was going to be the one punished. “You’re mad if you think that I’m going to let you do that,” he said.

“Really?” Marlow arched a brow. “Watch me.” He turned on his heel, and strolled towards the two horses.

Marco had to make a decision. The logical side of his brain told him to run, to sprint back to the stables and raise the alarm. Titan could take care of himself, after all- he wasn’t _that_ trusting of strangers.

The other side of his brain advised for Marco to run _at_ Marlow and beat the living daylights out of him for even daring to threaten Titan.

He had a split second to decide.

He was running before he even knew what he was doing.

The surge of adrenaline he had been looking for so desperately moments before suddenly kicked in and sent him flying into the back of Marlow, the force knocking them both to the ground. Marco noticed a flicker of silver leave Marlow’s hand and land in the long grass nearest them. He slammed Marlow to the floor, winding him, but it didn’t take long for Marlow to recover. A fist shot out of nowhere and slammed into Marco’s stomach, forcing a startled yelp out of him, and he fought to keep the other boy pinned to the ground under his weight as he punched him square in the jaw. Marco hadn’t ever fought before; he was one of the children who stayed out of playground rough and tumbles and always stood by the idea that ‘violence was not the answer’. But as he scrabbled to grab Marlow by the scruff of his neck to punch him again, he heard his brain almost audibly yell, ‘ _FUCK IT’._ He didn’t even care what he was hitting at that point, be it Marlow or the grass beside him, but the sheer force of anger contained within him made it hard to stop. He just kept hitting. “Don’t you-” _punch_ “-fucking-” _smack_ “- **dare** -” _punch_ “-hurt my horse!” he shouted.

But then he was being yanked away. Two strong arms were forcing his hands behind his back and pulling him from the ground, and before Marco could register anything Marlow gave him a lethal kick to the stomach. He curled in on himself, gasping for air, and trying to contain the overwhelming pain that was shooting through him. In that time Marlow managed to scramble to his feet, spitting into the grass and letting out a hiss of pain.

“You okay, Marlow?” Marco’s captor asked. It wasn’t Annie. She was still stood apart from them, barely moving out of sheer shock. _Boris, then. It had to be the other one._ Marco tried his best to struggle, but the other boy’s grip was tight.

Marlow waved a hand dismissively, spitting again. Marco hoped it was blood. “You’re cute, Bodt, I’ll give you that,” he said, rubbing his jaw from where Marco had landed a punch. “You’ve got guts. And spirit. I kind of like that.” He walked over slowly, tauntingly. Marco’s struggles increased. “Only managed to actually _hurt_ me once, but not bad.” He crouched down within an inch of him, and let the smirk cross his face again. “I figure you’ve got a death wish, you know. Either that, or you actually _get off_ on getting hurt.” He reached a hand out and drew it along Marco’s cheek. Marco flinched away, a snarl curling on his lips. Marlow just chuckled. “Now there’s an idea, hmm?”

“Marlow, please…”

“Begging already huh? Wow, you _are_ impressive.” Marlow’s hands reached out further, carding themselves through Marco’s hair. Every touch sent ripples of disgust and panic through him. He was trapped. He was alone. Armin was in the house, waiting, but there was no way to contact him. And Jean… _Jean…_

“Just how far are you willing to go to keep me away from you horse and Kirschtein, hmm?” Marlow questioned, a vile glee dancing in his eyes. “You’re very… protective, aren’t you?” He leaned in closer, the glee turning into something far more sinister. “Would you suck my dick?” His smirk widened at the thought. Marco froze. “Would you let me fuck you ‘til you were raw and hurting? Would you?”

Marco was paralysed. He could barely breathe. He was just staring up at Marlow, frozen to the spot and terrified because _yes,_ Marlow was perfectly capable of doing all of those things. His heart was slamming against his ribs like it wanted to free itself, every nerve screaming at him to run, to fight, to do _anything_ but stay where he was, rooted to the spot by Boris’s arms and his own pure fear. All he could do was fix Marlow with a weak glare, a glare that held little threat, and say with as much venom as he could possibly find, “Don’t come near me.”

Marlow snorted. “Oh Marco, asking was just common courtesy. Like I said, you’re in no position to tell me what to do.” He motioned to his friend who reluctantly dragged Marco to his feet. “In fact,” he drawled, running a hand through Marco’s hair and grinning as he jerked away, “I could do whatever I wanted to you right now. And what can I say?” He chuckled as he traced the line of Marco’s lips with a finger, “I’ve always had a weakness for pretty mouths.”

Marco went cold. He wanted to struggle, to fight, to resist- but Marlow was drifting closer, and he still wasn’t moving. His limbs were locked. All he could do was shake.

_This wasn’t happening couldn’t be happening no no it couldn’t be I don’t want him near me why can’t I run please stop._

In a moment of madness, he diverted his attention to Annie, and saw something that almost made him frown. She was looking at something behind him, her wide eyes full of something close to hope. Before Marco could react, he heard the rustling of someone rushing through the longer grass of the paddock. And then he was losing his balance and falling to the ground with a grunt.

“Jean!” Annie cried, and Marco rolled onto his back to meet the familiar amber gaze. He was still in his riding clothes, his breathing was heavy and Marco could tell that he was scared, but he was there.  _Jean,_ he sobbed in relief. _Jean is here, he came for you._ He looked behind him to catch sight of Boris keeled over, groaning on the grass as he lay winded. In the chaos, Annie had taken off back towards the stable yard, her figure little more than a blot against the darkening sky. Marco found the use of his arms and shuffled closer to his rescuer, however weakly. Their eyes met again, and the look Jean gave him almost made Marco break. There was a gaunt sort of horror in his face, his brows drawing together just like they did when he was about to apologise over and over, but there were no words coming out of his mouth. He was silent. His silence wasn’t lost on Marlow; he was stuck in position like a living statue, barely even blinking, and Marco even detected a flicker of worry in the other boy’s eyes. Or maybe it was just the angle.

“L-look at you Kirschtein,” Marlow said, trying to regain his courage, “come to join the party, have you?”

“I told you,” Jean replied, “not to fucking touch him.” Marco was surprised to hear how level he sounded. He was grounded, cold yet bristling with a quiet fury Marco had never seen on him. He wasn’t curling in on himself anymore. When Jean took a step forward, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared, he looked ten feet tall.

Marlow noticed it too. He tried to shrug it off, but Marco had seen the flicker in his expression too late. “Sorry. I don’t take orders from the likes of you.” It was a strained threat, and Marco had a feeling that Jean knew it.

“Do you even realise how much fucking shit you’re in?” Jean asked. His voice was trembling, yes, but it was trembling for a completely different reason. He wasn’t scared- he was angry.

Marlow smirked, folding his arms tightly against his chest. “Do enlighten me.”

Jean strode forward. Marlow’s smirk faltered, but he didn’t move. “You broke onto private property,” Jean hissed. “You threatened my boy, and you threatened Titan.” His glare stayed stony for a second more, then corrupted into a dry smirk. “Marlow, I am going to fucking kill you.”

Marlow blanched.

Jean lunged.

Marco scrambled to his feet.

Jean managed to floor Marlow with a single punch. All the pent up rage, all the fear, all the insecurity, it all seemed to combine into one gratuitous hit that sent Marlow reeling to the ground. Jean didn’t wait for Marlow to get up; he gave him a kick to the stomach, and then again, and again. Marco knew he should have grabbed Jean, dragged him away and let Marlow leave. But then he remembered the bruises. The lies. The stark and honest fear. And he just found himself watching, too horrified to look away. “How does it feel to be the one on the other end?” Jean was demanding at the top of his lungs, giving Marlow another kick as he tried to crawl out of range. “It hurts, doesn’t it?! It _fucking_ hurts!!”

That was what broke Marlow out of his daze. He rushed to him and managed to grab hold of one of his arms. “Jean, stop! That’s enough!”

But Jean didn’t want to stop. He wanted to keep his promise. He wanted to kill Marlow, and Marco could see that in the way he tried to feverishly wrestle away from his grip. “Get the fuck off me, Marco!! He doesn’t deserve any mercy!”

“Don’t sink to his level!” Marco said.

“I want him to fucking hurt! I want him to understand what it was like!” He was breathing heavily now, his chest heaving with the effort as he still tried to struggle closer. “And he tried to touch you, if he had gone any farther I swear to Go-” Marco felt every muscle in Jean’s body freeze. He followed his eyeline to see that Boris was standing ahead of them, and he was brandishing the knife Marlow had lost in the grass. He looked beyond terrified himself; he didn’t even look as though he knew why he was holding the knife, but there it sat, snug in his palm and glinting in the weak moonlight. “S-stop where you are,” he said.

Jean’s lip curled. “Fuck off, Boris, what the fuck do you know about any of this?” But Marco knew better. He could feel the tremors rolling off of Jean in waves. The knife Boris clutched in his hand was making everything all the more dangerous now. He reached across the gap between them and snatched for Jean’s hand, threading their fingers together despite the fact Jean’s hand was clammy with sweat.

Marlow got to his feet, dusting himself off with a grimace, and took the knife from his companion wordlessly. Boris flinched away like he thought Marlow would turn on him if he said a word. Marlow just sneered at him, muttering something that sounded like “coward” to Marco’s ears before facing them again. “Now, are you going to be nice to me?” His grin had returned, and that made Marco’s stomach twist.

Marco closed the gap between them, pulling Jean close to him as he kept his eye on Marlow. “Jean,” he whispered, “please don’t.”

Jean wanted to. Marco could feel the energy pulsing through Jean’s veins, angry and defiant. He was angry. He was trapped. Marco knew, from experience, that nobody responded well to being cornered. He squeezed his hand gently, telling him that it would be alright, that he was doing fine, that he was so proud of him, but he still kept his breathing sharp. He didn’t know what he thought he would be able to do- dodge the knife, grab it maybe?- but he wasn’t going to let Marlow do anymore damage. He had done enough.

Marlow took a step forward. Then another. “Maybe I’ll give you something to remember me by, Jean,” he hissed, brandishing the knife in front of him. “What do you think of that?”

Jean’s breath rushed out in a single pleading sob, and Marco moved to shield him like he was acting on autopilot, their hands clamped together so tight now it was painful. “Marlow, that’s enough,” Marco said. “Leave him alone. Please. If there’s any inch of a decent human left in you, you’ll-”

“If you don’t get out of my way, Freckles,” Marlow hissed, “I will stick this between your ribs.”

Everything inside of Marco deflated. He staggered backwards, pushing Jean back with him, but Marlow was walking towards them again. He gulped. _They were in trouble. They were in big trouble and no one was around to-_

Someone screamed.

At first, Marco thought it was Annie, that she’d come back with someone. But then again, Annie wasn’t the type to scream.

Then he heard the hoofbeats.

He had managed to break away from Sawney, and was now charging towards them at a gallop, ears flat against his head and another scream issuing from his mouth. There was no mistaking the gelding’s intentions: Titan was filled to the brim with fury. Marco had only seen him that angry once. Marlow spun around on his heel to see what Marco was looking at- and promptly dropped the knife. “What the-”

Titan stopped dead inches before he reached Marlow and rose onto his hind legs in a rear, another scream wheeling forth from him, and Marlow scrambled backwards, face fast losing its colour. Titan followed him, screaming and rearing and thrashing at the air above Marlow’s head, and Marco could only watch in horror. Boris took the opportunity to flee, tripping over his own feet as he bolted back the way they had come. Now abandoned by both of his companions, Marlow’s panic doubled. “C-call him off!” he shouted, still retreating from the furious hooves. “Please, call him off!”

“I can’t!” Marco cried, panic steeling through him as Titan let out a guttural neigh, landing only a centimetre from Marlow. Titan seemed to hear him, his head turning to him for a moment. Marco wet his dry lips, and muttered a soft, “T-Titan, that’s enough, t-take it easy.”

The gelding hesitated.

It was the longest few seconds of Marco’s life, that hesitation. One wrong move and Titan could cause the kind of damage that was unfixable.

But then his head lowered.

He moved past Marlow, tail smacking against his hindquarters in a show of aggression, until Marco and Jean were suddenly barricaded by a wall of very angry horseflesh. Titan let out another neigh at Marlow, blowing air through his nostrils in an act of finality that seemed to say, _You are not coming any closer_.

Marco realised that his shakes were so bad he was finding trouble standing. Jean was making some sort of strange wheezing noise beside him like he was trying to ferociously suck in air, and the gravity of the situation hit Marco like a brick wall. Titan had attacked Marlow. He had attacked a _human_ , and if Marco hadn’t been there, Titan would not have stopped. He let out his held breath in a single rush. It felt like the ground had been knocked out from beneath him. Meanwhile, Titan was locked in position, the only movement the occasional quakes that ran through his body like fault lines. His attention was on Marlow, ears still back and eyes rolling. When Marco laid a hand on the gelding’s hindquarter he could feel how tense he was. He was still coiled, ready to spring into action at the slightest sound, but he was frozen. Marco gulped as he realised where he had seen that reaction before.

_He’s behaving like he would with a dog_.

He steadily traced the lines of Titan’s shaking muscle and tried not to tremble himself, biting his lip to stop any shuddering noise coming out. He reached the curve of his neck and wound the thick mane around his hand, the gelding responding ever so slightly to the gentle tugs he gave, and chanced a look at Marlow. He felt a stab as he saw how stunned he was. Marlow and Titan could have been statues for all he knew, staring at each other for eternity, and only Marco seemed to be able to jar them into life. His breath was still coming heavily. “M-Marlow…” he began.

Marlow shook his head. He took a step back. He raised a hand. “That thing is dangerous,” he said in a strained voice.

Marco’s eyes widened. It was like ice was being poured down his collar and settling at the base of his back. “N-no,” he managed to say, “he’s n-not, I swear he’s not, you just triggered him…”

“He could have fucking killed me!” Marlow took a step back, shaking his head like a scared toddler. “He could have… killed me… and you… and _him…_ ”

Marlow didn’t have the chance to continue. Jean’s insistent yanks on Marco’s shirt alerted him to not only Armin racing towards them but Eleanor too, and the red and blue flashes in the yard gave the signal for Marlow to leave. He uttered a soft curse and backed away, eyes darting from Marco, to the lights, to Titan. The gelding, too, seemed to shift at the lights; he broke free of his paralysis and arched his neck in an effort to see the source of the flashing.

“You should go, Marlow,” Jean said from beside Marco, “before you get yourself into even more shit than you already have.”

Marlow looked as though he wanted to hit Jean. But as the footsteps grew nearer, he lost confidence. He faltered backwards, his eyes washing over them all. The last one his gaze landed on was Marco. His lip curled. “You know, my uncle has a lot of power. He is more than capable of apprehending and destroying a dangerous animal,” he muttered savagely. Marco blanched, and tightened his grip on Titan’s mane. Marlow smirked, if only for a moment. “Call it food for thought.” Then he was backing away, and turning, and running.

Marco stared after him, and the weight of his words began to sink in. He felt like a hole had been punched through his gut. He brought his arm up further around Titan’s neck and rested his head against one powerful shoulder, refusing to let go of his mane in case he decided to chase Marlow out of his paddock completely. Sawney was patrolling the perimeter, head snaking across the long grass and threatening rumbles coming from his barrel chest, and Marlow gave him a wide berth as he disappeared into the dark.

“M-Marco?”

Marco’s gaze flickered over to the voice. Jean had his hand outstretched to him, brows creased, asking. He wanted reassurance, but it was at that moment that Marco realised he couldn’t give it to him- not this time. He let out a small sob and buried his face further into Titan’s coat, a whicker of concern emanating from the horse. Jean’s hand dropped to his side. Marco couldn’t bear to look at him again.

Neither spoke, not even when Armin and Eleanor rushed upon them with question after question. What was there to say? They had both heard Marlow’s words. And they struck Marco more than a knife ever could.

* * *

 

 

The police had asked Marco to make a statement, but when he couldn’t stop his voice from shaking they kindly informed him that they could come back in the morning when he had calmed down. His mother hadn’t left his side for the entire time, hand gripping his shoulder so tightly it was turning white under the strain. She kept squeezing it, giving him weak smiles whenever he glanced her way, but nothing shook the horrible sickening feeling that had settled in his stomach. It seemed to be setting up camp there, poking him to make sure he wouldn’t forget, and he was even forced to push past a group of officers to reach the bathroom, where all he did was dry heave and press his forehead against the cold porcelain of the bowl, his shakes threatening to stop him from moving entirely.

The only person he thought might have been able to help him was the only one who was keeping his distance. Jean had sat down in the kitchen after being shepherded in by Eleanor and a collection of officers, and had stayed there, unmoving. If Marco hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Jean had turned to stone, unresponsive to the police, his mother, Armin… none of them got through to him. That was why, an hour later after the third dry heave of the evening and when the police had finally decided they had enough for their enquiry, he went back to the kitchen. He hung back as he heard voices, and instantly recognised his mother’s nervous tones.

“Jean, sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. You have to understand that. This boy, he… he doesn’t think straight. Boys like him are dangerous, and the police are going to do everything they can.”

“It _is_ my fault, though.” Jean’s voice was cracked, and Marco could tell that he was close to tears. “I should have _been_ here, should’ve known Marlow would have tried something.”

“Sweetie, no one can predict these things. They just happen.” Marco inched closer to see his mother smooth a hand up Jean’s back gently. He was hiding his face in his hands. Marco’s stomach dropped even lower. “And you were there, you got there and you did everything you could-”

“I stood there and shouted like a scared little boy!” Jean snapped, the sharpness withdrawing Eleanor’s hand from his back. “I fought like a scared little boy, and I couldn’t help him! Marco had to stand there protecting _me_ and what does that say? He was so scared, and I did that to him…”

“Jean…”

“It’s not okay.” Jean sniffled into his sleeve as he lowered his head onto the table.  It was at that moment that Eleanor looked up with a sigh- and caught Marco’s eye. He shrank back against the doorframe, guilt creeping up his spine for interrupting, but Eleanor let out a tired smile. She was looking more and more tired lately.

Marco shuffled into the kitchen, and the movement made Jean’s head jerk up in alarm. “Just me,” Marco mumbled, moving to fill the kettle. Jean relaxed by an inch, but his pain didn’t lessen. It still sat there, waiting.

“Marco, sweetie, are you alright?” his mother asked, crossing the room to fuss over him instead. “I heard you being sick again.”

“I wasn’t sick,” Marco muttered, setting the kettle back down and flicking it to boil. “My stomach just won’t stop turning.” He heard Jean groan softly behind him. He turned to see him hiding his face again. “Jean, I’m alright,” he said. “Honestly. It’s j-just an aftershock.” Jean didn’t respond.

“I’ll leave you two be,” Eleanor said, her eyes darting from one face to the other. “It’s been a long night. I’ll be upstairs if you want me.” She trailed her hand through Marco’s hair lightly, lovingly, before walking around the table and doing the same to Jean, her face soft. It occurred to Marco, right then, that his mother had already accepted Jean as one of them, and she was ready to defend him as well as Marco to the end. That thought settled him a little. Jean didn’t resist, and she even reached down and whispered something in his ear before straightening up and offering a small smile to Marco as she left. The door shut with a _click_ behind her.

Marco kept his back to Jean as he made two of the worst cups of tea he’d ever seen, his hands still quaking a little when he tried to pour the sugar. Jean didn’t say a word. Marco didn’t feel like talking, either. He knew they needed to, so badly it was like a bridge was stretching between them, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Jean was the one who broke the silence.

“I shouldn’t have listened to Levi. I should have stayed here.”

Marco tensed up. There it came again. The guilt. “Jean, it doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Of course it fucking matters!” Jean snapped. Marco jumped. “If Annie hadn’t speed-dialled Bertholdt…”

“Annie called you?” Marco frowned as he turned around, two cups of awful tea in his hands. “I didn’t think she was-”

“She had nothing to do with it, it was all Marlow.” Jean sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “He forced her into going because she’s been giving her horse steroids in the last few competitions. She didn’t want it getting out.” He glanced up at Marco and gave him a weak, humourless smile. “She’s the one who saved the day, not me.”

“Jean, is that what this is all about?” Marco set the mugs down on the table between them. “Y-you think you didn’t help me?”

Jean’s silence was all he needed to know.

“Jean, I love you.” His heart broke when all Jean did was scoff. “I mean it! Don’t do that! I _love_ you, Jean, I love you so much. Without you there I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“Without me period you’d be a whole lot happier.”

Marco just stood still, letting the words sink in with mounting horror. His stomach dropped as it finally clicked. “J-Jean, are you trying to break up with me?” he said. The words felt thick in his mouth, like treacle.

Jean finally looked up at him. And Marco saw the pain in his eyes. “I don’t want to. I r-really don’t want to, Marco, but…” his voice broke. “Your life was so much easier when I wasn’t in it.”

Marco felt something flare up inside him. Not sadness, not despair… _anger._ Seething, furious anger. “W-what do you know about what my life was like?” he asked, though at the sudden defensive nature his tone had taken, it sounded more like a demand.

Jean stared back at him, a little alarmed. “You didn’t have to deal with the likes of Marlow, for starters.”

“And you think everything else was just a walk in the park, did you?” Marco’s voice was climbing higher. “You thought that the fact my father walked out on us, that we were owning a struggling stables, that _your_ academy was taking our customers, that I had barely _any_ friends and couldn’t go near Titan without breaking a sweat was **_easy_**?!”

Jean’s brow furrowed. “Well, yeah. You could deal with it if you tried hard enough.”

That floored him. _You could deal with it if you tried. A proper person could deal with it. Someone who wasn’t scared of everything._

Marco snapped. “You have no idea what I had to go through!” he all but shouted at him. “You haven’t got a fucking clue, have you? You thought I was _happy_ like that? I _liked_ being like that?!”

“Marco, you’re twisting it,” Jean muttered savagely. His own temper was rising, Marco could see it. But he couldn’t stop.

“What’s there to twist? You’re pretty clear!”

“Marco, please!” Jean looked close to tears. “I don’t want to lose you, you know I don’t, but what else can I do? He’s not going to give up, Marco!”

“What, so we should?” Marco shot back. “We should let Marlow win, should we? Are you going to get back with him after this just for a quiet life?”

“N-no, Marco, for fuck’s sake!” Jean was on his feet now, glaring up at him, and behind the shards of Marco’s anger there was a soft cry that Jean ever had to look at him like that. “I’m doing this for you!”

“It’s not your choice to make!” Marco shouted, slamming his hands down on the table so heavily the mugs rattled. “You can’t expect me to lie down and take it like it’s nothing! I’d take on a thousand Marlows if it meant I could stay with you, don’t you get that?” When all Jean did was glare at him, Marco half-shouted, half-sobbed, “I _LOVE_ you!”

“And what good is that?” Jean threw up his hands in the air. “I love you too, I love you to the ends of the earth and however else I can say it poetically and romantically and fucking lamely, but what fucking good is it going to do, at the end of the day?” He gritted his teeth, trying to contain himself. “Love isn’t going to keep Marlow away”, he said as steadily as he could manage, “and it’s not going to shut my Dad up.”

Marco blinked, wrongfooted by the sudden new information. “Your Dad? What did your Dad say?” He thought back to the phone conversation Jean had had with him, and how he’d been behaving strangely ever since.

“He guessed we were going out,” Jean said. “He also thinks you’re a bad influence on me, and he doesn’t want me around you after the summer.”

Marco stared at him. Jean had come from looking taller than a mountain to as small as an acorn, and he just wanted to wrap his arms around him and make everything alright. But he knew that that was not going to work this time. He took a step closer regardless, knowing that the table was between them, and muttered, “You’re going to listen to him?” There was an edge to his voice that he was sure Jean picked up on.

“No!” Jean seemed surprised at his own reaction, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I d-don’t want to, but he’s just… he won’t _let_ me, Marco, you don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do.” Marco walked around the table to reach him, biting his lip to keep himself from saying anything too harsh. “I know it’s hard. Trying to make a parent proud, it… it takes a toll on you. But Jean, you… you can’t let him rule your life. Please don’t let him rule your life. Don’t let anyone rule your life- not your Dad, not Marlow, not me.” He sucked in a shaky breath as he reached him, wanting so desperately to grab his hand or hold him close but not knowing if Jean wanted that. “I just need you,” he said, his own tears threatening to break loose.

Jean’s were already rolling down his cheeks, though he was sniffing defiantly and trying not to make eye contact with Marco. When he did, he let out a short hiccoughing sob and looked away again. “I thought Marlow was going to hurt you today,” he said weakly. “Even before he pulled out the knife, I thought… oh g-god, I thought… if he laid a finger on you, if he touched you, if he made you do _anything…_ ” Jean crumpled. He wrapped his arms around Marco and crushed him close, his sobs so heavy they threatened to break him in two. Marco grabbed him right back, planting his lips to Jean’s head as he felt him shudder and fracture, and it was all he could do to stop himself falling apart. “If you had to go through what I did… oh god…” Jean gulped.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Marco managed to get out, kissing any inch of Jean’s face he could find. “Please… I love you, Jean… I love you…”

“I’d never forgive myself if you got h-hurt. I can’t… I can’t _be_ the one who hurts you. I can’t. That’d break me.” He sighed against Marco’s chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “Please, I love you, I do, I swear, I just want you to be happy…”

“I’m happy with _you_ , you idiot,” Marco tightened his grip, refusing to let him go even when he tried to shift away with a stifled sob. “We’ll find a way to sort Marlow out, I promise, j-just… please stay with me.”

Jean didn’t reply. He just held him close, stubborn and unmoving, and it made Marco’s stomach twist. They might have been holding each other for hours, but Marco didn’t care. Time didn’t matter. He didn’t move until Jean’s shakes subsided and his breathing became softer, more controlled, and even then it felt like he removed part of an arm when he did, kissing Jean’s cheek with a soft sigh. “G-go to bed,” he murmured. “You’re tired. Please, sleep on it. Will you do that for me?”

Jean nodded, threading his hands through Marco’s hair and kissing him directly on the lips. “Okay,” he replied after a moment, his voice thick with fatigue and left-over emotion. “Okay.”

Marco pulled away from him, his chest aching as he mumbled, “M’gonna check on Titan. Mum put him away a-and he might be scared.”

Jean looked, for a moment, as though he was going to ask to come with him. But then he bit it back, checking boundaries, throwing up barriers, and it was all Marco could do to stop himself from pulling him back into his chest. “Mmkay,” he said. “Y-you go ahead…”

Marco wanted to kiss him.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t.

He just turned and walked out of the kitchen, to the door, and out to Titan’s stable.

Titan was led down in his stall when Marco got there. His powerful limbs were folded underneath him, the fiery temper smouldering from his encounter with Marlow, and at the noise he jerked his head up with a warning neigh. For once, Marco didn’t flinch away. He bit his lip and slipped into the stall soundlessly, sliding the bolt back with as much care as possible so as not to spook the gelding. “Hey big guy,” he cooed weakly, kneeling in the shavings next to his horse. “Take it easy, I just wanted to see how you were.” Titan nickered and nosed Marco in the chest softly. The look of fire and rage in his eye was gone now, nothing but the deep brown iris remaining. Marco found himself relaxing, and he shuffled a little closer. Titan lowered his head, a rumble shooting through his system as he settled down again. At least someone wasn’t trying their utmost to reject him ‘for his own good’. Marco felt a shudder run through him at the thought, but his nerves and emotion seemed to be shot. He could barely feel a thing.

Titan was calm enough to fall back to sleep, his breathing slowly growing steady, and as Marco suppressed a large yawn he realised that the heaviness in his limbs meant he wasn’t going to be moving any time soon. He was sure that in the morning he would realise how stupid it was to fall asleep in a stall with a potentially dangerous animal, but he was too tired and hollow to care. He dimly thought that he was lucky the shavings were clean as he settled into the nearest corner as sleep finally took him in its chokehold.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of howling woke Marco up with a jolt. He sat in the limbo of sleep and waking for a split second, unsure of where he was, until he heard the restless whicker of Titan. He frowned and turned around to find that the gelding was standing over him, his head poised on the world outside. His frown increased when he saw how alert Titan seemed; his ears were pricked and his nostrils were flaring. And he was _shuffling._ Titan never shuffled. “What is it?” Marco mumbled to the horse. One of Titan’s ears flicked back, listening to him, before it turned back. He was watching something out there in the early morning, and Marco had to know what it was. He rose to his feet, the frown still on his face. The wind had picked up during the night, and now the sun was rising it just seemed to be getting worse. The howling began again, and he realised too late that it wasn’t the wind. It was feral, angry- it was _dogs._ Ferals.

Titan’s frame was shivering, his muscles locked into place and wanting so badly to run and not being able to. “Titan?” He laid a hand on the gelding’s flank, smoothing the soft coat he found there until he reached his shoulder and peered out of the stable too. “Titan, it’s okay, they can’t hurt yo-”

_BANG._

Marco twitched at the sudden noise.

_BANG. BANG. BANG BANG BANG._

He couldn’t help it. Nudging Titan aside, he opened the door to his stall and locked it behind him, bracing himself against the sudden and alien coldness that was sweeping through the stable yard and began following the sound, hands plunged deep into his pockets. The howling was rattling his bones and driving his hands further into his pockets, but the noise was driving him on, the curiosity overwhelming him. _If anything_ , he reasoned, _I need to stop it in case it spooks the horses._

When he turned the corner, he found out what it was.

He stopped dead.

His heart plummeted.

It was a stable door banging against the wind.

Sina’s stall was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a hat that says "The cliffhanger trash queen" I swear to God.   
> I'm sorry.  
> Next week will be better, I promise.   
> Everything will be okay...


	23. Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooo the cliffhanger is rectified guys!   
> Just a warning, it may be badly written action/violence concerning animals, but there is action/violence nonetheless. Just so's you know.   
> I hope this makes the last chapter better. I hope. It's not quite so angsty, so there's that! :D A lot of things happen in this chapter, so I don't wanna mention a lot of it in the summary, but there is...tension? And surprises? And a lot of cheese. A LOT of cheese. So look forward to that :D 
> 
> We only have one chapter left after this and an epilogue, I can't believe my baby is almost done ashsiufgriut <3 and I really appreciate all the support and love I've had for this fic because, seriously guys, this wouldn't be on chapter 23 without your feedback. So thank you for that. 
> 
> Anyway, sap aside, enjoy the chapter! :) 
> 
> My tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/

Marco couldn’t move. He just stood there, his breath becoming more and more shallow the longer he stared at the empty stall. He willed Sina to be there, hiding in a small corner to whinny out a greeting, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

He jarred himself into action. He took off back to the house, ignoring the shooting pain through his leg as he wrenched the front door open, took the stairs two at a time and charged into Jean’s room. The covers were thrown back like someone had been sleeping there, the floor in a state of disarray with clothes and papers from their old study sessions, but there was no one there. Marcos heart slammed into his throat. “Jean?” he called out, not caring if he woke his mother.

No answer.

He tore to his own room and it was just as empty, the bed looking like it had when he had left it. Marco felt his back connect with the nearest wall and he leant against it for support, drawing in breath in sharp, forced gasps as he closed his eyes. He tried to think rationally, but questions came out of nowhere and assaulted him in fevered succession. Where was he? What had he done? Had he ran away? Why had he taken Sina?

Marco’s eyes snapped open. _Or had someone else taken Sina?_ The thought of Marlow coming back and taking the mare made him sick. He had threatened to lame Titan, so Marco dreaded to think what he would do to the flighty young mare if the mood took him. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, ignoring the fact that there were a few strands of hay caught in it, and tried to calm down. He failed miserably. His heart was hammering against his chest, the air was becoming thick as it pressed down around him, and he was starting to hear the telltale ring of an oncoming faint. He shook himself.

_No. Can’t faint. Can’t do it. Have to find Jean._

He pushed himself away from the wall, wobbling slightly, and started to pace the room, fighting away that sickening feeling that was threatening to rise up and swallow him.

It took him two circuits of his room to notice his violently flashing phone. The faintly blue light that kept blaring out at him urgently made him dart over to it, tripping over his chair in the process, and once he had unlocked his phone he saw that he had a few missed calls from…

_Bertholdt?_

He ignored them, hitting Jean’s contact details and calling the number that popped up on-screen. He held it to his ear and waited.

And waited.

And then waited some more.

The line went dead after an endless amount of rings.

“Shit,” he muttered, hanging up and trying again. Nothing. “Sh-shit, Jean come on,” he said, resuming his pacing. No answer.

“Sweetie, what are you banging around for? It’s too early to be up,” he heard his mother complain from the doorway, and he swung around to see her blinking blearily at him. His face seemed to answer her question. She straightened up, her eyes becoming a lot more alert. “Where is he?” she asked.

“I d-don’t know, I’m trying to call him,” Marco said weakly. “S-Sina’s gone, her stall’s empty.”

Eleanor crossed the room and looked out of Marco’s window at the yard. Marco had forgotten that she could probably see the stable door flapping uselessly in the wind. “If he’s riding her, he won’t have gone far,” she said, turning back and striding to the door. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll call Hannes, he knows this place like the back of his hand.” She paused in the doorway, meeting her son’s distressed eyes. She sighed. “We’ll find him, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

The tight little ball loosened in Marco’s stomach. He nodded. As Eleanor shot back to her room, he looked back at his phone. “Come on, Jean! You can’t be this angry at me,” he said, punching in the number manually this time (as if that would make any difference). Nothing. “For fuck’s sake!” he swore, bringing it back to his eyeline. Bertholdt’s name still burned in the middle of his notifications, and Marco paused.

_Missed call from **Bertholdt** : received 20 minutes ago. _

_Missed call from **Bertholdt** : received 15 minutes ago. _

_Missed call from **Bertholdt** : received 12 minutes ago. _

_Missed call from **Bertholdt** : received 10 minutes ago. _

He didn’t know much about Bertholdt, that was true, but he was sure that he had seen the taller boy hanging around with Annie before. He definitely knew Reiner and Annie were friends, so if they were together… _It was a weak connection_ , he mused as he hit the button to call him back, _but it was a connection nonetheless._ He was only subjected to two rings before Bertholdt answered. “Marco?” the voice was high, strained.

“Bertholdt, h-hey.”

“Haven’t you gotten my messages?! I’ve been calling you!”

“I got your missed calls,” Marco said. “What is it?”

“It’s Jean.” Marco’s heart hiccoughed. “M-Marco, something bad’s going on.”

Marco carried on pacing, washing a hand over his face as his pulse picked up again. “What is it, Bertholdt? Where is he?”

“Annie rang Reiner after… y’know, wh-what happened last night,” Bertholdt rambled, “and she’d got called by Marlow, w-who I don’t like at all by the way, I think that he’s creepy and I wouldn’t ever be associated with him and Reiner feels the same and I think Annie’s really sorry about what she did she didn’t mean to because he made her-”

“Bertholdt!” Marco snapped. He could imagine the other boy retreat from the phone in fear. “What did he say? Did he come back, d-did he take Sina?”

“N-no, he… I don’t know, he didn’t say. B-but Sina’s with him, and Jean too.”

Marco went cold. “Where are they, Bertholdt? What has Marlow done to them?”

“H-he hasn’t done anything I d-don’t think, Annie says he was on the m-moor above your house when he called her, but he cut out.” Bertholdt's voice began to quicken the more he talked. "A-and Annie said he was talking about Jean going up there to meet him, and that they had an argument, but the line was all fuzzy and she couldn't hear him properly but she said he sounded scared. And Marlow never gets scared."

Marco frowned, his thoughts beginning to run at a hundred miles an hour. He had only heard Marlow scared when Titan had charged him, and even then he had managed to recover quickly. The fact that he was scared and calling Annie was even more worrying. "Did he say anything else? Did he say anything else about Jean?"

"I don't know, Marco, I'm sorry!" Bertholdt replied. He sounded close to tears.

There was a sudden shuffle and the phone was traded hands. The voice that returned was gruff, but warm. "Marco," Reiner said, "I know you're worried, but I think hurting Jean is the least of Marlow's worries right now."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Marco asked, stopping dead in the middle of the room. "Is Jean alright, did Annie hear him at all?!"

"No, she didn't," came Reiner's level-headed response, "but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. That might even mean that Jean's alright. But Marco, I wouldn't go doing anything reckless or dangerous. Marlow and Jean have history, I know, and Marlow is a nasty piece of work, but Jean can handle himself."

"No he can't," was Marco's weak reply. Jean couldn't handle himself. He was running on emotion, pure and simple, and if he'd gone to hunt Marlow down or try to bargain with him (he shuddered at the thought) he knew that he wouldn't be thinking straight.

Then he heard the howling outside his window.

He nearly dropped the phone.

The ferals.

The feral animals liked to stay up on the moor out of harm's way.

**_The moor._ **

"Marco? Are you there?" Reiner asked, dropping him back to reality.

"I-I'm here," he said, though the sudden realisation was making him feel further and further away the longer he stayed still. "Reiner, have you called Levi?"

"Levi? Why would I call-?"

"Call him. Get him to come here. I don't care if he swears blue murder at you, tell him everything and get him to come here."

"Okay, sure, but I don't see why..."

Levi had to be here. Intimidating or no, the grumpy trainer would know what to do. Marco didn’t know why he thought that; he just did. Levi seemed the type to be able to cope under pressure, and if Marlow had done anything… "Reiner, please. Do it, for me? For Jean?"

"Okay, okay, sheesh." There was a heartbeat. "What are you going to do?"

Marco swallowed painfully, rooting around on the floor for a thick enough jacket. "I'm going up there. I'm going to try to find them."

"Don't you dare, the wind is getting stormy," Reiner urged, “and they said it’s only going to get worse.”

Marco was down the stairs by now and in the study, rooting around in the cupboards. He fumbled for the emergency kit his mother always left out of reach in case any of children that found it decided it looked like a fun toy and took out the flare gun, cursing at the fact they only had two capsules left. He pushed the capsules into the gun regardless. “Marco, you’re being ridiculous,” Reiner was saying. “Even if the wind doesn’t pick up, you are not going to be able to cover enough ground on foot."

Marco thrust his free arm into his jacket and swapped ears as he pulled the other sleeve on. "Who said I was going on foot?" he asked. Before Reiner could answer, Marco muttered a short, "thank you" and hung up, grabbing the flare gun off the side and shoving the handle beneath the line of his trousers.

He didn't have time to tell his mother where he was going. He didn't have time to shut the front door of the house. All he could do was run, run and ignore the pain in his leg or the panicked wheezing of his breath. He raced to the tack room and searched feverishly for the name tag. Finding it, his heart gave a jolt as he snatched the bridle from its peg with trembling fingers. There wasn’t time for a saddle.

If there were ferals up there, the horses wouldn't step a foot too close. The horses would shy, would refuse, would point-blank rear if they were forced into going near them. They were all scared of ferals.

Except one.

Marco didn't have time to think. He slid back the bolt of the stable with shaking hands. The horse inside turned and looked at him. It lifted its head high. It snorted. Its eyes gleamed. "Titan," Marco said, reaching out the hand with the bridle to coax the gelding closer, "I need you to trust me now." Titan lowered his head, allowing Marco to slip the bit between his teeth with shaking fingers, talking to him all the while. Titan wasn't scared, Marco realised as he fastened the bridle’s straps, he was just reckless. He was brave, and he was protective. He thought back to the day he'd told Jean about the accident, about how the feral dog attacking them had scared him and scared Titan, and remembered Jean's words: _“Marco… I think Titan was protecting you… He was panicked because you weren’t moving, and he thought it was all his fault. He **loves** you, Marco.”_

Jean had been right. Titan wasn't scared of dogs. He never had been. He had attacked that dog, and remained wary of them, because they had scared Marco. They had threatened Marco, and that was what had scared Titan. Nothing else. Marco was his Achilles' Heel, not the ferals. If Jean was in trouble and Marco wanted him to help, Titan would run into fire for him. Reiner had told him not to be reckless, but that was the only thing that was going to work.

Titan stood still for him, barely moving as he threw the reins over his head. Even as he led him out of the stable, out into the yard and to the mounting block, there was no head-tossing or skittering. Titan knew.

Marco shook as he stepped onto the block, making sure Titan was in the right place as the gelding shifted his weight. Marco paused. He should have been using a saddle. He could hear his blood roaring in his ears. His palms were still sweating. His shakes were still there. But then he looked at Titan, and saw the way the gelding was still, one ear cocked forwards and the other rotating around, listening. He looked at how calm he was, despite the fact he was clearly just as tense as Marco was. The trust he could feel in Titan was like a physical thing, surrounding the both of them as he stood there deliberating. Titan trusted him. It was time for Marco to return the favour.

He took the reins in one hand, a thrill of nerves shooting through him, and he gritted his teeth. "W-we're okay, aren't we boy?" he asked the quiet horse. "You'll look out for me, right?"

Titan's head twisted around to look at him. The softness in his eyes gave Marco the answer. He sighed, and thought of Jean, somewhere on the moor where there were ferals roaming about, and that was the last push he needed to swing his leg over Titan’s back and grip with his knees. Titan tottered backwards with a soft whicker, his ears flying forwards, and Marco shortened his reins to keep him steady. He didn’t let himself stand there revelling in the feeling of riding Titan again; instead, he nudged him with his heels and clicked sharply with his tongue. “Let’s go, Titan,” he said in a voice far steadier than his hands, and then they were moving.

They didn’t even begin with a walk. Titan immediately broke into a jaunty canter, fighting the bit as he clattered through the yard and onto the moorland path, and Marco found it difficult to stay on. Titan’s back was sleek and arched, unlike Garrison’s broad one, and his muscles were rippling with every lunging stride. Marco tried to keep the gelding steady so he didn’t hurt himself, he really did. He wanted to take it slowly so he could get used to him again. But at the same time he wanted to urge him on faster, wanted him to charge into a gallop if he could.

The hill was steep to reach the moor, and Marco tried desperately to slow Titan down, but the gelding was having none of it. Marco could feel his powerful hind muscles launching him up the slope, and leant forwards to make it easier for him. Titan’s breaths were coming in short pants, but he refused to slacken his pace. Marco gave in. He let the reins slip from his fingers and loop slightly against Titan’s neck and just let the gelding go, wincing at every jolt or knock his leg received as he wrapped it around Titan’s stomach as best he could. They steam-rollered up the hill like it was nothing, Marco trying to keep as much of his weight off Titan’s back as was humanly possible to help the snorting, grunting and straining animal without slipping off himself. He didn’t give his horse enough credit; Titan’s muscle had really been built upon thanks to their lungeing sessions, and though there were a few stumbles the gelding kept his head down and pulled straight up, his focus not wavering for a second. Marco wondered if Titan was aware of how urgent the situation was.

They reached the top of the green with a graceful hop of Titan’s back legs, and Marco immediately tightened the reins to halt him, thinking fast. The moor stretched out ahead of them like a looming promise, and he let out a sharp exhalation of breath. A sickening sense of déjà vu came over him. Was history going to repeat itself? All they needed was the mist, and the wind was really picking up. He hoped that they were stood downwind from the ferals- at least then they would have a little bit of an advantage over them.

“Easy, Titan,” he soothed, leaning down to give his restless horse a pat. Titan tossed his head and let out a nervous whinny, dancing on his toes as his ears flicked back. Even if Marco couldn’t hear anything, it was clear that Titan could. Then he seemed to remember himself, and quietened, head turning first one way and then the other, caught up in whatever it was he could hear. Marco rose out of the saddle to look around, brows furrowing as he searched frantically. He couldn’t see a thing. “Wh-what do you think, Titan?” he asked his horse. “Where are they?”

The gelding was still twitching, his ears rotating like radar as Marco nudged him carefully forwards, finally letting the notion that he was riding him again sink in. Then he stopped dead. “Titan, what is it?” Marco asked. Titan was still. His head was up. His giant frame seemed to tremble with anticipation underneath Marco. And then Marco heard it.

It was faint on the wind, and he had to strain to really hear it, but it was there.

He could hear the sound of a horse whinnying.

Marco’s eyes snapped wide. _Sina._

Titan let out a hoarse neigh in return, and without thinking Marco drove his heels into his sides. Titan leapt forwards like an athlete at a starting gate, head still up and ears flicked forwards. The surge of power was immeasurable; Marco was thrown against the arch of Titan’s wither as he surged into a gallop, and even lost a great length of rein, but nevertheless he let himself curl against the thick neck, moving with the gelding as he thundered over the ground. He hadn’t ever galloped like this with Titan before. He was relaxing, his legs gripping the gigantic body in the right places whilst he sat in the centre of the gelding’s back. Suddenly, he wasn’t afraid about falling off. The ground was nothing but dust under Titan’s rolling hooves, and every foot of ground covered was a blessing. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat, Marco noticed with awe; he was just charging onward, nostrils flaring and mane whipping his face. Titan wasn’t galloping anymore, he realised. Titan was _flying._

He heard another, louder neigh, and turned Titan in the right direction. He needn’t have bothered. The gelding swerved of his own accord, checking his stride and shortening it a little to compensate the harsher ground, and Marco afforded a glance up. His heart somersaulted as he caught sight of a small brown smudge in the distance. “Jean!” he shouted, though the sound was lost in the speed of the gallop. Titan's pace, if it were possible, got faster. Marco kept his eyes focused on the shape in the distance as it grew larger and more alive. There was no denying that it was Sina. The closer they got, more shapes were being thrown up against the bleak outlook of ground. Two figures. Marco's heart gave a jolt as he shortened Titan's rein, bringing him back into a more controllable pace as he neared the group. The scene melted into view in an instant, and Marco nearly fell off in shock.

It was Marlow and Jean. But they were in a bad way. Jean was crumpled on the floor, lifeless and still. Marco couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Everything stopped.

He wanted to rush to him. He wanted to grab him, haul him up on Titan's back and bolt. Was he alright? Had he fallen off Sina? Had Marlow hurt him? If it was Marlow, Marco wasn't sure how long he could keep calm about it. His attention, however, was diverted at that moment by the very person he was wishing harm to.

Marlow was recoiled in horror, his eyes wider than Marco had ever seen them. He could already hear the snarls and growls of prowling animals before he spotted a speckled shape lunge at Marlow, knocking him backwards with a strangled cry. He had grabbed a heavy looking branch from somewhere, and when he swung it around at the snarling animal it jumped away. Marco didn’t have to look for long to recognise a feral dog- he had seen enough of them, after all. It didn't go far from Marlow, sticking to circling the group with hackles raised and tongue lolling out of its mouth. Marco felt his own insides freeze up at the sight of it all. Seeing Marlow so scared made him look almost... childish.

Sina meanwhile was in a state of such panic that she had rooted herself to the spot a little further away from Jean, eyes large and rolling and her normally gleaming coat flecked with sweat and blood from a wound on her foreleg. Blood was dripping down the quivering flesh sickeningly slowly, and it was obvious that she wasn’t able to put weight on it. She threw up her head and spotted Titan. She whinnied again, loudly and desperately, and the noise tore at Marco's chest.

Marlow looked over at them.

Their eyes locked.

And the air changed.

Marco wasn't sure what he was doing or why. All he knew was that he needed to get the dogs away from them. Sina was injured, Jean looked like he'd been knocked out and Marlow wasn't exactly faring well either. He felt Titan tense beneath him and falter in his stride, and gulped back the lump in his throat. "It's okay, Titan," he said, his voice shaking as he focused on one of the snarling, scruffy animals that had their attention turned to him now.

They were barely dogs at all; there was no smooth coat or friendly disposition. There were five of them in all, a sizeable pack of varying shapes and sizes, but all were prowling like wolves and snarling like them too. The speckled one that had just attacked Marlow appeared to be the ringleader, its odd-coloured eyes constantly flicking from one dog to the next, making sure they were working together. There was a mangy pair of black dogs that seemed to be working in tandem, and a tawny individual with a face resembling a wolfhound. And one, snapping at Sina’s hindquarters, looked like a part-bred collie. Five feral dogs, five threats. These weren’t family pets that would whine and roll over. These were brutal, savage predators. And as Titan let out a warning whicker, Marco knew that if it was a fight they wanted, a fight was what Titan would give them.

The tawny had them in its sights the moment they grew near. It let out a growl, low and deep in its throat, before it ran to meet them, mouth open and flecked with spittle. Marco tightened his grip on Titan's reins and just let the gelding take over. He even wanted to shut his eyes. He had to trust him, he reminded himself. Titan knew. He understood. He was reckless, but he was clever. Cleverer than most.

The dog didn't have a chance. Titan ran it down like it was nothing but churned mud, leaping over the parts of its body he didn't trample in the initial impact. Marco shut his eyes at the yowl that escaped the animal's maw, but he could hardly help it. Titan slid to a halt as he confronted the scene before him, eyes darting to first the motionless Jean to the panicked Sina, and his accompanying neigh was guttural and low in his throat. It was almost as though he was angry.

Marco practically leapt off Titan’s back and rushed to Jean, falling to his knees and grabbing hold of his jacket. "Jean!" he said, giving him a little shake. "Jean, I'm here! You stupid fucking idiot, what have you gone and done?"

"He can't hear you." Marlow's voice was faint in his ears.

Marco shot him a look of venom. "If you've done something to him I swear to God-"

Marlow threw his hands out in front of him. They were shaking. "I haven't! I swear! I h-haven't, I couldn't, I... he got knocked out, he fell off his horse, it reared and he just came off. I think it heard the dogs, or one of the dogs attacked it, I don't know, it all happened so fast..." Any trace of malice was gone now, replaced instead with cold, honest fear.

“Her _name_ is Sina.” Marco's teeth gritted. "What is he doing out here?"

"I told him to come meet me... but oh God, I didn't want any of this! I didn't know you had fucking dogs here!" Marlow wasn't facing him, his head twisting to and fro like he was trying to fight off invisible enemies.

Marco ignored him. He was more interested in Jean. "Jean, baby, can you hear me?" he asked, checking for his pulse. It was weak, fluttering under his touch like a small bird, but it was there. He was alive. He would be alright. Marco leant closer, tilting Jean’s head back like he’d been taught to do hundreds of times, and felt the shallow breath tickling his cheek. _Still breathing. At least there was that._ He checked Jean’s head for signs of bruising, his neck for any vertebrae damage, but found nothing. He was disturbed by a bark close to his ear.

He turned and came face to face with the snarling collie-like dog, its eyes blazing hungrily. Marco let out a staggered cry and lashed out with his leg, kicking at the Collie's body. The dog backed off with a growl, but it had abandoned Sina for its new target. Marco tried to keep his breath calm, tried to think rationally- but the closer the Collie got, the more his thoughts scrambled. He moved so he formed a barrier between the dog and Jean, glaring defiantly at it. There was no way in hell he was going to let anything reach Jean. It snarled again. But before it could attack, a flurry of hooves appeared out of nowhere and sent it reeling.

Titan's scream pierced the air again, and Marco looked up to see the gelding standing in front of him, tail clamped between his legs and steam rising off his body like a thin vapour. The collie was stunned but unhurt, and whilst it recovered one of the black dogs launched itself at Titan's hind legs, snapping and snarling. Titan swung his haunches out to avoid it, teeth bared. Marco barely had time to blink and Titan's head had snapped down, his teeth embedded in the scruff of the dog’s neck. It howled in pain and tried to free itself from the gelding’s grip, clawing and biting at every scrap of flesh it could reach. Its claws found purchase in the gelding’s jowl and along his neck, but Titan paid it no attention, even when scarlet stripes began to appear on his ebony coat. He began to shake the dog viciously, lips curled in his own makeshift snarl, and only stopped when he noticed the other black animal stalk towards Marlow.

The knuckles gripping hold of the branch were deathly white as Marlow took a step back, back into the centre of the group, and Marco could see the way he was shaking. Despite it all, he was terrified. He couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t defend himself. He was just as helpless as Marco and Jean were, and that was scaring him even more. The dog was barking, and barking loudly, and every one sent tremors through Marlow’s system.

But Titan had noticed.

The horse wrenched his head to the right and sent the dog in his mouth crashing into its twin, a cacophony of yowls and whimpers accompanying it, and Marlow looked wide-eyed at the angry gelding. Titan forced them away from Marlow with a scream, stomping the ground inches away from them with his ears back and teeth bared. Marlow staggered back, mouth dropping open at the gelding’s vicious reaction. There was good reason, Marco admitted; the dog Titan had thrown couldn’t move, its back legs useless, and its fellow seemed to heed the warning and backed off, a whine escaping its maw. Dogs usually gave up a hunt if they felt threatened, but these were desperate animals that were starving. They wouldn’t stop unless it became desperate. Marco could only watch in stunned awe. This, however, left him open for the collie's renewed attack. It leapt at them with no warning, mouth open and eyes blazing. Marco’s shoes scuffled the dirt as he threw his arms out to shield Jean’s body, his own body locked in panic.

But then Marlow was running at it, yelling as loudly as he could. He swung the branch at the collie with as much force as he could muster, jaw clenched, and Marco winced as it smacked into the animal’s shoulder blade. There was a sickening crack of bone, the collie yelped, and it sank to the ground, a muffled groan coming from it. Marco stared up at Marlow, his breathing ragged and short. Had Marlow actually just done that, or had he imagined it? Marlow turned back to him, chest heaving and eyes large. He didn’t say a word. Marco guessed he didn’t need to.

The uninjured black dog had fled, tail between its legs, and Titan tore after it, a protective neigh ripping from him as he chased the animal away. Marco would have relaxed until he realised that there was one dog left standing.

The leader.

And it was stood watching them, planning its next move.

He made sure Jean was rolled onto his side, his head tilted up to suck in enough air, and he was on his feet, standing beside Marlow. “D-don’t look it in the eye,” he advised as the dog slunk towards them, a growl curling on its muzzle. “And stand your ground. Don’t you _dare_ leave us on our own.”

“I won’t,” Marlow said, and for some insane reason Marco believed him. He held the branch up above his head, watching the prowling animal with a snarl of his own on his lips. It paused, sizing Marlow up. It seemed to understand that he was armed, and changed direction. It began to sprint straight at Sina, the hapless mare still holding her leg out at an awkward angle. She let out a frightened whinny and reared at her enemy, the injured leg still speckling the ground with blood as she tried to keep herself on her hind legs for as long as possible. “GET AWAY FROM HER!” Marco shouted, and before he knew what he was doing he was rushing at the dog.

Even the dog hadn’t predicted the stupidity of his action, as the momentum of his run knocked it off balance and sent it rolling onto its back. He felt a shot of pain where the dog’s claws caught him and cringed as he scrambled to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing you stupid freckled idiot!” Marlow shouted at him, but Marco wasn’t even sure himself. He moved to Sina, grabbing her reins and resting a hand on her nose, trying his best to calm her, but then he heard the snarls. He wheeled around to see the dog crawling closer, its blue and brown eyes making it seem even madder than it was. He tightened his grip on Sina’s reins.

“Marco-”

“DON’T YOU DARE MOVE,” Marco shouted back. “Don’t you dare leave Jean on his own!”

“But-”

“I said not to leave Jean on his own!” Marco spread his arms, his eyes never leaving the dog as he spoke. He could feel tears welling up and tried to choke them back. “He’s not to be left on his own, do you understand? Never! If he gets hurt, I won’t forgive myself.”

“ _I’d never forgive myself if you got h-hurt…”_

Jean’s words came back to stab at Marco, and he let out a choked sob.

_Jean…_

Then he heard it.

The thunder.

Titan was galloping towards them with fire in his eyes and brimstone in his hooves. He had got another massive claw mark down the side of one powerful shoulder in his wanderings, but even though the blood was flying behind him like a macabre form of confetti the gelding continued onwards, whistling a challenge as he surged towards them in a relentless gallop. The dog turned, the sight of more blood signalling a potential weakness, and even though its pack was lying weakened or dead around it, it still ran at Titan with as much power as it could muster. All Marco could do was watch.

Everything happened in slow motion. A heartbeat drew the two closer. Another had them almost upon each other. The next…

The large black body collided with the smaller speckled one in a melee of wild screams and angered snarls, Titan rising onto his hind legs immediately to fend off the snapping teeth. As Marco watched, he realised he wasn’t seeing a simple fight between the two, but the echoes of an age-old conflict. Titan was behaving like a wild stallion protecting his herd on some long-forgotten plain, and he wondered if maybe that was why Titan was fighting like he was. It was a primal thing, something ingrained that made him fight and defend and protect to the end. There was a definite instinct at work, and it was instinct that made Titan dodge a poorly-timed lunge from his foe and pivot his hindquarters around to let out a vicious kick, his ears flat back as he let out a frustrated squeal.

Marco slipped the flare gun out with trembling fingers whilst the dog’s attention was diverted, and lifted it up in the hair. He hoped to God that his mother had been true to her word and sent Hannes out on the moors, and as he shared a wide-eyed glance with Marlow, he said, “Cover your ears.”

He fired.

A red light shot into the air, blinking in the wind, and it fell over them in a wide arc. The sound distracted the dog, and as it turned to investigate the source of the noise, it made a fatal error. It stopped watching its prey. Titan let out a final scream and lashed out in a giant kick. One hoof hit the dog directly on its head. There was one loud yelp and it was over. It was dead before it hit the ground.

Titan whirled around, snorting and blowing hard, and bit by bit the tension in the giant body seemed to lessen. Marco waited, still holding Sina’s reins in a death-like grip, and looked around him. The two injured dogs were moaning and whining in the grass, the tawny trampled into the dirt by Titan’s hooves, and the speckled, the leader, lay motionless and broken at the gelding’s feet. Marco found a way to breathe. He let go of Sina’s reins and scrambled back to Jean, elbowing Marlow out of the way in the process. “Jean! Jean, wake up, come on,” he said softly, smoothing a hand down the other boy’s face. “Wake up, we’re alright. Everything’s fine, come on.”

He heard the gentle thudding of hoofbeats, and realised that Titan was coming over. Marlow swore and dived towards Marco, but Marco only gave him a scathing glare. “He’s not dangerous,” he hissed, “so don’t treat him like one.”

“He fucking killed that dog!” Marlow snapped. “He killed _two_ of them!”

“And what would have happened if he hadn’t?” Marco looked back to Jean, but spoke to Marlow. “I’m sure we wouldn’t be here for much longer.”

Marlow was quiet for a few moments. Marco saw him shuffle closer out of the corner of his eye, and couldn’t help the discomfort that rose up around him like a brick wall. “He… Titan, I mean… he protected _me._ Why did he do that?”

Marco shrugged. “Horses don’t bear grudges like people do,” he answered, brushing Jean’s hair out of his eyes and listening to his shallow breaths. “Like I said, he only attacked you last time because he saw you as threatening. He probably protected you back then because you were with us. When Titan gets like that, I guess he doesn’t take a look around at who he’s protecting.” He shot him a warning glare as he got a little closer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Marlow stopped short. He wasn’t glaring at him. He wasn’t even smirking. He was simply… _looking._ The fear was still there within, brewing horribly in his dark innards. Marco shuddered to think of it. But then Marlow washed a hand over his face. “Fuck… I never wanted… _fuck…_ ” He glanced over at Jean again. “Is he…?”

“He’ll be okay. He’s just knocked out. Like you said. We just need to keep him warm.” Marco blinked when, seconds later, battered leather was shoved into his face. He glanced up to see Marlow holding out his jacket, eyes firmly away from him. His jaw was clenched again. “Wha-?”

“Take it.” He thrust it into Marco’s chest and folded his arms immediately afterwards, letting out a low sniff as he looked anywhere but Marco.

At first, Marco wanted to throw the jacket right back at him, shout that he didn’t want his jacket, he didn’t want any of his help whatsoever, but then he saw Jean shiver. He spread Marlow’s jacket over Jean, shedding his own jacket too. He wrestled the automatic ‘thank you’ back into his mouth as he worked, and only looked away from Jean when he heard Titan walk near. “Hey big guy,” he greeted, eyes widening as he looked him over. Titan was going to sport some potentially permanent scars, but he otherwise seemed fine considering he had been in the heat of action. He guessed the dogs, feral and desperate though they were, really were no match for a horse of Titan’s height and weight. They were lucky that the dogs didn’t work together. He grabbed for the gelding’s trailing reins but made sure the horse kept away from Jean, not wanting an accidental trample.

His face must have softened at Titan’s intrusion, because Marlow took it upon himself to kneel down next to Jean. Marco’s eyes snapped to him in an instant, his own instincts kicking in as he glared the other boy down. “Don’t touch him,” he hissed. One of Titan’s ears flicked back.

Marlow held both hands up. “No touching, Freckles, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why don’t you just leave?” Marco asked. “You might as well. You’re done here.”

“What, and walk the moor by myself until another pack of mutts decide I look like breakfast? Keep dreaming.” Marlow slumped onto the ground with a shaky sigh, running a hand through his now untidy hair. “Fuck… are you fucking used to this shit? We could have _died!_ ”

Marco didn’t want to make conversation with him. He really didn’t. But he’d sent out a flare, and they would be on their way soon. He hoped. They had to kill time somehow. “A dog’s attacked me before, yes,” he muttered, looking back to Jean.

“How can you be so calm about that?”

Marco shrugged. “I’m not. I’m terrified. But… now’s not the time.”

“You can hide that so easy?”

Marco glanced at Marlow. Strangely, the other boy looked confused. Genuinely interested. Marco sighed. “I’ve put up with a lot, and I’ve learnt that it’s not good to dwell. You just turn out bitter. Let’s just put it that way.”

Silence fell between them, a silence only permeated by Sina’s ragged breaths and Titan’s gentle nickers of reassurance. Marlow opened his mouth to say something more, but it was broken by a flicker of movement from Jean. Marco’s heart nearly stopped. Jean was regaining consciousness. He was going to be alright. Jean shifted an inch to the right and let out a breathy groan of pain, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“Jean?” Marco tried, leaning close to hear that beautiful, blessed breathing get heavier, more real. “Jean, can you hear me?”

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Marco looked up to meet Marlow’s gaze, and he just stared incredulously at him.

He didn’t have the chance to reply. Jean answered for him.

“Uhnn…fuuuuck…’e fuckin’ loves me.”

“J-Jean?!” Marco said, practically throwing himself on the ground in his eagerness. “Jean, are you alright?”

Slowly but surely, Jean’s eyes flickered open. They were still a little dazed, and Marco assumed he might have been a little concussed, but he was okay. He was shifting onto his back, cringing as pain flooded his system, and a hand came up to rake through his hair. “I feel like shit…ugh…”

“Are you feeling nauseous? Faint? Does anything hurt?”

“Fuckin’ hell calm down, I’m fine…”

“Good. Because I’m going to kill you.”

“Whaaaatever.” Jean tried to sit up- and promptly fell back down again. Marco leapt for him, but Jean just laughed breathlessly. “It’s cool, man, it’s cool, I’m still a little whoozy, it’ll pass.”

“You sure he didn’t get his brains knocked out?” Marlow asked bluntly.

Jean’s eyes flew to Marlow. They widened. “Y-you…”

“Oh hush up Princess, I’m on my best behaviour.” Marlow glanced at Marco and sighed. “I owe the Freckled fuck a lot more than I ever thought I would. No funny business, I swear.”

“What were you even doing out here?” Marco asked, glaring at Jean.

“Got… got a text from Marlow, he wanted to meet me up here, so I thought I should ‘cus I didn’t want him hurting you anymore. So I got Sina…” The colour drained out of his face. “Sina. Sina, where is she? Where’s my girl?” He twisted his head around in his feverish search for her, and Marco was forced to grab hold of his shoulders.

“Just relax, she’s here, she’s hurt but-”

“She’s hurt?!” Jean’s struggles doubled in intensity. “Where is she? Did he hurt her? If he laid a hand on her I’ll fucking-”

“N-no he didn’t… I mean I don’t think so…” Marco looked over at the mare. Her eyes were rolling every time her injured foreleg hit the ground. “I think it was the dogs…”

“Yes, it was,” Marlow scoffed.

Marco glared at him. “You don’t have the right to be offended when you were threatening to injure _my_ horse less than 24 hours ago!”

That shut him up. Marco was getting more confused by the minute by Marlow. Angry, but mainly confused. How could he stand there, sneering at the very idea of him doing harm to an animal when he had been threatening to do just that hours before? Titan was still watching him with suspicion, Marco realised, and any wrong move would probably send the already fired-up gelding blazing into action... but that wasn't it. Marlow was actually being true to his word; he was keeping his distance, speaking when spoken to, looking out for potential rescuers. It was a relief, in a way, that he could see the other boy like it. Nobody could be so spiteful and cruel 100% of the time, could they?

"Well I came up here on Sina," Jean was saying, his words still bumping into each other as he fought to regain the use of his tongue, "and the argument got a little heated, but then... then there was this howling, and then snarling, and then Sina reared up..." His face screwed up as he tried to chase down the rest of his memory, but he appeared to draw a blank. He shrugged. "That's it," he stated.

"You're still a fucking idiot," Marco muttered, and had to admit he felt a stab of amusement at the way Jean flinched at his swearing. "Why would you just leave like that with no explanation? Huh? Didn't you stop to think how worried I'd be?"

"Jeez, what a mother hen. At least I wasn't that much of a bother when you were with me, Jean."

"Fuck off," was Jean's weak response. To Marco's immense surprise, Marlow tittered.

"Yeah," was all he said. "Yeah."

Marco sent up the second flare a moment later, the scarlet tail trailing across the overcast sky, and it didn't take long before he heard the sound of hooves. "Someone's coming," he said, relief flooding through him.

Marlow looked relieved too, stretching a little as a series of small blips appeared in their eyeline. "What is this, the dark ages? Why does everyone go around on horses?"

"Imagine trying to get a jeep around here and you'll know what a stupid question that is," Marco scorned, scrambling to his feet and taking a tighter hold on Titan's reins. The gelding turned towards the oncoming help with intrigue, large eyes blinking slowly as it registered, before he issued a loud whistling neigh that took them all by surprise. Sina whinnied pitifully beside them, and that single noise sent Jean to a standing position, swaying a little but otherwise fine. He was luckier than most, Marco thought with a soft sigh. Jean almost threw himself at his horse, his arms coming around her neck as he forced himself to stay upright, his legs still wobbling a little. "Jean, you're still a little whoozy, take it easy!" Marco warned.

"Need to make sure my little girl's okay first," Jean replied in his typically stubborn manner, running a hand down her sweat-flecked coat with drawn brows and making gentle cooing noises every time she flinched.

The small party of people didn't take long to arrive; it turned out they had been travelling at a breakneck speed the minute they saw the flare. Hannes came into view first, his mouth drawn in a fine line, and to Marco's slight horror and slight relief Levi appeared moments later, mouth curled in distaste as he fought to keep Sawney in a straight line. Hannes looked grim as he pulled back on Garrison's reins hard. The large Shire obeyed with a grunt, sliding to a standstill once he caught sight of Titan, and the black gelding whickered a greeting to the slightly larger horse. As the pair touched noses and nipped at each other like colts, Hannes dismounted and strode towards them. "What in the blazes are ye all doin' way out here?" he demanded.

Marco grimaced. "I went looking for Jean once I knew he was missing. I know I should have told you first, but I didn't think..."

"That's the problem with ye, Marco, ye never stop teh think what your actions do to other people! Your mother's been worrying herself sick down there thinkin' you've gone an' eloped or something stupid like that." Hannes scoffed. His eyes zeroed in on Jean. "And YOU," he pointed at viciously, "you jus' wait, yer father's down there tearing the police a new arsehole and that ain't even the worst part!"

Jean had come to his senses enough that the mention of his father gave him a gaunt expression. He kept his hands around Sina's neck but leant back, gulping. "W-what's the worst part?"

"You'll see. Let's get back to the yard, come on."

Marco went cold. He noticed Levi, who had been stood so quietly during the proceedings, glance over to Marlow and his lip curl even higher. Marlow had done something, he realised with growing horror, though what he wasn't sure. Marlow didn't even have the gall to look smug. He just looked wretched. Humiliated by being saved, Marco thought to himself as he turned back to Titan, checking him over for any lameness. When he found nothing, he gathered the gelding's mane in one hand along with the reins, and leapt up. Mounting from the ground was always a challenge, and Titan being so tall made it even worse, but the gelding stood still whilst he did it. Only once he'd gathered the reins up and shifted his weight did he notice everyone staring at him. He was going to ask what they were all staring at.

Then he realised.

He blushed.

"S-so..." he started.

He looked down at Jean, and the gaze he got back in return made him blush even more, the warmth seeping down into his chest. Jean looked as though he'd found something so precious he wanted it all to himself. And he was so, so proud. “M-Marco, you’re…” He let out a small, sharp laugh. “HA! I knew you could do it!”

Marco bit his lip. “Th-thanks. Only took the thought of you being in serious danger. Nothing big.” The heavy lacing of sarcasm to his words made Jean smirk, however weakly, and Marco thought it a personal achievement. The look on the other boy’s face didn’t waver, however, and Marco found it hard to stop himself from getting stupid and emotional in front of the others.

Levi took the opportunity to walk Sawney a little closer, the stallion throwing his head up with a disgruntled whinny. “Your mare won’t carry you back,” he noted, walking Sawney past them all and nearing Sina with the familiar lidded expression. “She’ll need that leg checked. I can put a poultice on it to draw out the swelling so she can walk back without as much pain, but a vet’s gonna have to get called out.” He shot a glance to Marlow. “And you. Don’t go anywhere. I have to have words with you.”

Marlow blanched. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me, you shitty excuse for a human being. If you so much as think about taking a step out of line I won’t hesitate to ram my foot up your ass.”

Marlow gave him a filthy look, but didn't move a muscle. The little man snorted, as if that clarified things, before dismounting neatly from Sawney's back and taking a few things out of one of his saddlebags. He knelt before Sina quietly, pressing the poultice onto what seemed to be a clear bite mark. "Dogs really got her good, huh?" he mused.

"There were five of them," Marlow blurted out. "T-they attacked us, and they were trying to get her on the ground."

"That's how dogs hunt." Levi glanced up at the mare. "She put up quite the fight. You should be proud of your little mare, Kirschtein. She's got heart."

"I wonder where she learnt that from," Jean muttered, casting a small smile Marco's way.

Marco's smile froze on his face. His elation was fast giving way to something else. The memory of the evening before came back to him in a single suffocating rush. The fear. The anger. The argument. The chill rushed through him again as he stared down at Jean. This might not have changed anything- Jean was still scared, still stuck, and still thinking that Marco would be better off without him. If Jean kept up the martyr act for much longer, Marco wasn't sure how he would cope. "S-so," he began, wetting his lips as he nudged Titan a little closer, "are you still... I mean, do you still want to...?"

Jean folded his arms. His expression changed. "It's going to be hard," he pointed out eventually.

"I can live with that."

"I'm not perfect."

"Neither am I."

"Well, that is a blatant lie."

Marco couldn't suppress the splutter of laughter. "Shut up, are you getting on this horse or not?"

Jean gave Titan the once-over with concern. "Will he be alright?" he asked.

Marco rolled his eyes. "Jean, I know you were unconscious for most of it, but he's just fought dogs for you. I'm pretty sure he can carry you too."

Jean hesitated for just a moment before grabbing Marco's offered hand and vaulted onto Titan's back, very nearly falling off the other side with the momentum of his jump. Marco was forced to steady him by wrapping his arms around his hips and holding on tight, blushing as he realised that everyone besides Levi was staring at them. "Er, ahem, sorry," he said, removing himself from Jean and taking the reins from in front of him.

Hannes shook his head wearily. "Oy, oy, oy," he said with resignation.

"Teenagers. Disgusting," Levi tutted.

Jean stuck his tongue out at Levi and knotted his hands in Titan's mane. Marco saw Marlow gazing at them, and felt the familiar prickle of discomfort. Marlow had taken his jacket up off the ground and brushed it down, slinging it on his shoulders. He glared at Marco, but there was a distinct lack of malice behind it. It rendered the glare weak, ghostly, and Marco swallowed dryly. "You're coming with us," he stated. He made sure it didn't sound like a request.

Marlow shrugged. "Guess I have no choice."

Jean frowned at Marlow's reply and turned his head to peck Marco on the cheek carefully, eyes flickering over to Marlow for the briefest of moments. If Marco didn't know any better, he would have thought Jean was gloating, in his own little way. "Marco..." Jean murmured, soft and gentle, and Marco's attention shifted back to him.

"Mm?"

Jean leaned even closer to whisper something in his ear. "I'm so, so sorry," he said. "I didn't ever want to worry you."

"Well, you did."

"I love you, you know." Jean kissed the spot under his ear. "And you know what else?"

Marco smiled. "What?"

"I bet we look fucking hot on this horse."

And, as they set off back along the moorland path, Marco was inclined to agree with him.

He'd known the return to the yard wasn't going to be a pretty affair. But even he was surprised by the ferocity in which his mother came storming towards them, still clad in her pyjamas and hair wild and all over the place. Wow, Marco thought as they clattered into the yard, if Hannes still found her attractive after this he should marry her. "MARCO JAMES BODT I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU," she squawked the moment Hannes reached the yard. "You could have died, you stupid, stupid boy! Where is he Hannes? Where is my selfish, reckless, stupid-" Her words cut out when she finally did catch sight of him. Marco wanted to hide behind Jean, or failing that the crest of Titan's neck. But it was too late. She'd seen him. "M-Marco," she said, her pressurised anger slowly deflating the longer she looked at them. "J-Jean. You're... you..." She took another step closer. Then another. And then she was running at him. Marco barely had chance to let out a small "oh no" before Eleanor threw her arms around Titan's neck, sobbing into the gelding's coat. Even Titan was surprised; he tossed his head high in a bid to avoid Eleanor's overflowing emotion, and Jean gave her a gentle nudge with his toe.

"Er... Mrs Bodt?" he tried.

Eleanor nuzzled her face into Titan's coat and pressed a small kiss there. "Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you for bringing my boys back."

Titan steadily lowered his head until it was resting on her shoulder, and Marco thought it looked as though he was hugging her back, a tired sigh rumbling forth. Marco felt his eyes itch where tears threatened to brim on the surface. "M-mum," he mumbled. "Mum, it's alright, it's okay."

She pulled away at the sound of his voice, and Marco could tell she was conflicted. She looked like she wanted to punch him and hug him all at once, and even though Marco wasn't particularly fond of either option, he much preferred the latter. Words, for once, had failed her. She lowered her head, swiping at the tear tracks appearing on her cheeks viciously before she hissed, "G-get off your horse right now, young man."

Marco gave Jean a weak smile and did as she asked, leaving the reins to Jean and sliding off with an unelegant thud so he was stood before her. He let his smile get wider. His mother clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes watering all over again, and then she was pulling Marco to her, wrapping her arms around him and holding him so tight he thought he might snap in half. "I had almost given up on you, boy," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry," Marco said, resting his chin on the top of her head as she squeezed him. "I really am."

"You better give me grandchildren," she mumbled, playing with the edges of his hair she could reach.

"Muuuum, not now."

"I like the name Lily."

" _Mum_."

"Sorry."

“If I may interrupt this touching moment.”

Marco pulled away from his mother’s insistent hands. He found himself hoping that he had imagined that voice, the voice that was cold and dry and powerful enough to send most his age scuttling back. But no- Jacques Kirschtein was very much there in the flesh, and he did not look happy. His eyes were flitting in a bird-like fashion from Eleanor, to Marco, to his son sat stop Titan. Jean’s eyes had snapped open, his breath hitching in his chest, and Marco took a step closer to him out of instinct. If it were possible, Jacques’s look darkened. "Jean, what do you think you're doing?" His voice was just as cold as his expression.

Jean gulped. "What do you think I'm doing, windsurfing?" he said.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me," Jacques snapped. "You are in so much trouble. Serious trouble. And to top it all off, you're sat on a ticking time bomb of an animal."

All colour drained from Marco's face. "E-excuse me?" he said. "Titan isn't a ticking time bomb, he's just-"

"Don't talk to me," Jacques hissed. Marco's mouth shut of its own accord. "I was talking to Inspector Dawkins here and I know the whole story." It was then that Nile Dawkins presented himself to the group, appearing out of a police car with the face of an irritable stoat. His gaze swept over the stable yard with little interest until it landed on Titan, and his stance tightened a fraction. "I just thought your horse was wasted in your establishment- I didn't think he was dangerous." Something glinted in his eyes. "I've heard the report. Attacking people isn't an attractive quality in a competition animal, is it now?"

The air around Marco became arctic. He stumbled back, laying a hand on Titan's shoulder as he shook his head dumbly. "No. No, no, he's not- he never- he was just-"

"You cannot keep making excuses for a horse capable of violent acts, Bodt," Jacques sneered. He looked positively delighted at the news. "You know what happens to a dangerous animal, don't you?"

"No!" Marco pressed himself against Titan, his brows slanting downwards in a furious glare. "I won't let you!"

"I won't be doing anything. Unless..." Jacques turned to Nile and let a thin smile grace his features.

"Unless?" Eleanor prompted, her arms tightly folded. She had moved over to Hannes, and the two of them were glaring Jacques down like protective parents.

"The issue may be the lack of facilities to accommodate your horse's needs," Jacques said, "and so maybe relocation- not euthanasia- is the option."

Marco felt the air convulse around him. No. NO. Was this why Jacques was there- to try to take Titan from him? He had seen Marco’s weakness for his horse, and was cunning enough to use it. After all, Titan trotting around a Trost Academy pasture instead of his own would destroy Marco, but not as much as seeing someone press a gun to the gelding’s temple. He let out a repressed shudder and stroked Titan’s neck, his fingers curling against the old accident scars under his mane. He couldn’t let Titan be taken away from him. He couldn’t.

"You're twisted," he heard Jean hiss.

"What is twisted, boy, is having you sticking up for this ramshackle old stables!" Jacques retorted. "It is old, it is tired, it is past its sell-by-date. It needs to go. We're merely offering a public service."

"You're taking Marco's horse from him!"

"Be quiet. The last time I checked, Bodt wasn't even capable of riding the animal. The fact that he can now makes no difference; the horse is still dangerous."

"Actually," a new voice interjected, "he's not."

All heads turned to the boy who had just walked into the stables. He had been walking by the side of Levi, but now he stepped out on his own, looking directly at Jacques. Marlow was glaring at him. Marco stared at him wordlessly, pressing himself closer to Titan in the process. He was still looking worse for wear after the scuffle in the paddock and the feral attack, but the strength of his gaze didn't weaken an inch. He was standing, tall and confident, and Jacques's eyes were almost bulging out of his head at Marlow's nerve.

"He's not?" Jacques asked, voice shaking with underlying anger.

"He's not," Marlow replied.

"But you were the one who filed the report!" he said.

"I got it wrong," was Marlow's breezy reply.

"How can you get it wrong, you stupid boy? He either attacked you, or he didn't!"

Marlow let out a sigh, and squared his shoulders. "He spooked. Someone must have been hunting up on the moor. He just happened to spook at me."

"You told your uncle that the horse reared up at you, and struck out?"

"Struck out at me?" Marlow smirked. "Honestly, Mr Kirschtein, what kind of horse does something like that?"

Marco was floored. He didn't know why Marlow was doing it, but he was lying for them. For Titan. For _him_.

Jacques was finding it hard to control his temper. "What- you- but- you said- Marlow-"

"Sorry for disappointing you." Marlow gave a loose shrug. "Guess I'll have to retract the record. Slept on it, you see. Remembered more." He then turned to Nile and let his smirk drop. "I need to talk to you. Alone. I need to set the record straight on a few more things."

Nile blinked at him. Out of everyone, he seemed to be the most surprised at the turn of events. "Y-yes, of course," he spluttered, directing him to the waiting car.

Marco couldn't help it. He grabbed hold of Marlow's sleeve as he passed him and hissed, "What the fuck are you doing? Why are you doing all this?"

Marlow paused. He glanced over at Jean, still frozen on Titan, and then back to Marco. "Don't pretend like you fucking know me, Freckles. You don't know shit." And with that, he pulled away from Marco's grip and walked to the police car, passing under Nile's nose and barely looking at him. He hesitated before twisting his head back to face them, a brow arching lazily. "Your horse... he's not bad, Freckles." And then he had ducked into the car and was gone from view. Marco just stared after him, dumbfounded and feeling as though a giant weight was lifted off his chest. Jean was blinking like he had just viewed a solar eclipse. Then Levi melted into view. He was smirking as he threaded a hand through Sawney's mane. Smirking. Levi never smirked.

Jacques, meanwhile, looked like he was going to explode.

"Is that all, Kirschtein?" Eleanor said with a wide smirk. Marco hadn't seen her look so smug in a long time. "I would hate for you to be wasting your time here."

His eyes shot to Jean. His lip bared to reveal bared teeth. "You. Get over here. Now." It was an order, brash and sharp.

Jean's hands moulded into fists. "N-no," he said. "No, I want to stay here."

"With these people?"

"Yes." Jean's face slipped into a glare. "With these people. With the boy I love."

Jacques let out a disgusted snort. "Don't start that again. You don't love him, for the love of God."

"Yes, I do." Jean hadn't ever sounded so sure of anything. "And I don't care what you think, or what you say."

"Your assessment-"

"- is my own business."

Jacques huffed. "They injured your horse!" he shouted, gesticulating madly at Sina's now bandaged foreleg.

"Wild dogs injured Sina," Jean answered calmly.

"Jean-"

"YOU'VE GOT NOTHING!" Jean shouted, causing Titan to shift beneath him. "NOTHING." Marco was a little alarmed at the fiery look Jean was giving his father; if he didn’t know any better, he would say Jean was close to rushing off of Titan and hitting his father around the face. He looked _that_ angry. “I’m sick, Dad. I’m sick of you. I can’t be the person you want me to be, and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean I have to be miserable about it.” Jacques glared at his son, thunderstruck, but didn’t say a word. He seemed to realise that there was nothing he _could_ say. Not now. Jean was on a roll, fuelled by Marlow’s outburst, and Marco was staring at him with the warmth in his chest only growing. “I’m going to do what makes me happy,” Jean said, his voice beginning to break a little as he ran out of nerve, “and I don’t care what you think about it.” He inhaled sharply, like he was trying to breathe in more confidence. “I’m staying here, with Marco.”

“That boy-”

“-is the best influence Jean’s ever had.” Levi lifted his head up from fussing over Sawney, cold eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

“How dare you speak to me!” Jacques snapped. “You are under my employ!”

“Then fire me,” was Levi’s cool reply. “We’ll see how your youngsters do in the regionals without me to give them an encouraging nudge.”

Jacques stared them all down with barely contained fury. One thing Jacques Kirschtein possessed was the smarts to know when he was beaten. He let out a barely constrained huff and muttered, “You’re coming back for training?”

Jean nodded curtly. “Don’t have a choice for _that_ ,” he said.

Jacques raised his head, a sneer curling his lip. “Fine. Rot here, for all I care.” He swept away, back towards his car, and Marco saw Jean’s hands mould into fists as he watched him leave.

Marco felt the question bubble up out of him before he could stop it. He was usually so good at keeping his emotion in check, for squashing it all down into a bitter little ball or box or whatever else and releasing it on his own, where there was no one to hurt. But this was different. He couldn’t. “How can you speak to your son like that?” It rushed out of him like a typhoon, hitting Jacques between the shoulders. It might as well have been a physical thing; it made Jean’s father spin around with just as much impact.

“What did you just say to me?” Jacques asked.

Marco gulped. _No. Now was not the time for shakes and weakness._ “Why don’t you treat others the way you like to be treated? With respect?” he replied. “He’s your son. You’re his father. Surely that means something, even to someone like you.”

He was pretty sure his mother let out a low whistle of admiration. _Not helping._

Jacques waited a second too long before he stormed back towards him, eyes blazing and fists swinging, and Marco took a step back against Titan. For one worrying moment, he thought he was going to get a punch to the jaw. “You forget your place, boy,” Jacques snarled, deathly close to Marco’s face.

He raised his head high and gave Jacques a solid glare in return. “It’s right here,” he said. “Right next to Jean.”

He inwardly wished his mother wouldn’t start applauding.

Jacques looked furious, but Marco didn’t let his glare weaken. He sucked in a breath, took a glance around, and stepped away with some reluctance. “You should teach your boy better manners, Eleanor,” he said.

“What can I say?” she replied. “He gets it from me.”

Marco was sure he saw a vein burst in Jacques’ temple. He tore away from them with a barely concealed curse, right back to his car. Marco watched him go, and didn’t notice Jean’s hand requesting his own until it was in his hair, ruffling and toying like it always did. He looked up and saw that Jean was smiling. “Is it a Bodt family tradition, to show affection through violence?” he said, echoing the words Marco had heard before. After he had raced Sina, and Marco was so angry with him but so relieved because he loved him, and loved him more than he thought Jean would ever be able to imagine. And Marco gave him a beaming smile in return.

“I dunno, maybe that’ll change,” he replied.

“I hope so. I think my Dad might have had an aneurism.”

“Shut up.”

Jean laughed and let go of the reins, swinging his leg over and merely sitting on one side of Titan, still smiling down at him. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly.

Marco leant forward and rested his folded arms on Jean’s knees. “Yes, I did,” he said.

Jean bit his lip. “God, I love you.”

Marco glanced up, his vision restricted somewhat by the way Jean was fondling his hair. He blinked. “Y-you meant it, then?”

“What?”

“You’re not leaving me?”

Jean let out a small chuckle. Marco saw the tears in his eyes. “Wild horses couldn’t pull me away.”

Marco sniffled, trying to blink away his own tears, and rested his chin on his arms. “You’re such a d-dork,” he whimpered.

“Yeah, well,” Jean hummed, smoothing his hands through his hair, “maybe I like being a dork with you.”

“I’m gonna cry.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oi, lovebirds.” Marco’s head shot up as he recognised Levi’s drawl. “That shitty little brat who was up on the moor with you. How do you know him?”

Jean cleared his throat. The hands in Marco’s hair disappeared. “My ex,” he said. “He’s… a piece of work.”

Levi made a guttural snorting noise at the back of his throat, making Marco cringe. “Thought as much. Well, regardless, he won’t be bothering you anymore. I know the kid- well, I know the family. They’re all a bunch of shitheads with the manners of sewer rats. The days of Nile fucking Dawkins covering for him are over.”

“Nile?” Jean questioned. “You know Nile?”

Levi made a ‘tch’ing noise. “To my fucking displeasure. He was a decent man, once, but then he turned into a shit-eating fucker once he walked into his inspector job.” He folded his arms and glanced back at the car. Nile was watching the proceedings with a pinched expression. Levi’s brow twitched and Marco could see the colour blink from Nile’s face. “I think he might be afraid of me,” Levi surmised.

“You think?”

“Shut it, Kirschtein.”

“So… Marlow is leaving us alone?” Marco couldn’t quite believe it. He was still in shock. “Why?”

“People do fucked up things when their lives are on the line,” Levi replied. “He told me what happened out there. With Titan. With you. Sometimes, the fucked up things are the first good things someone does in a long time.” His lips then slanted into a small smirk. “Besides, I find that gentle persuasion does a lot to jog the memory and inspire little shits to do the right thing.”

“You _hit him?”_ Marco spluttered.

“Why do you assume I had to use my fists?”

“He has a point,” Jean said. “He only needs to look at Bert and I swear the guy wants to cry.”

“I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” Levi replied with a sneer. He looked Titan up and down and turned back to Marco. “You can ride him now?”

Marco paused, and nodded. “Yeah… I mean, I think so.”

“Then you’re riding him at the Academy’s competition?”

“Uh… yeah, Jean entered me, so-”

“I’ll be here at six in the morning and work you until eight. You’ll do your duties, I’ll come back at six in the evening and we’ll train again.” He didn’t wait for Marco to respond, merely strode away, took Sina’s reins and tied her to a rung in the yard, muttering to Eleanor that he had called a vet and he was on his way.

“I don’t think I have a say in this, then,” Marco said, sighing.

Jean snorted. “Once Levi has an idea in his head…” He shrugged with a helpless grin.

“You can shut up too, you can’t stop grinning like an idiot about this.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Jean began to slide off of Titan’s back, and in a panic Marco grabbed him around the hips to stop him from falling. He blushed as Jean slid down in his grip slowly, his arms trailing up his back the further he slid until they were finally face to face and Jean was laughing at his violently red face. “But you know what?” he said, lacing his fingers together behind Marco’s neck.

“Mm?”

“I’m _your_ idiot.”

Marco buried his face in Jean’s shoulder, chuckling to himself. “You’re so sappy,” he muttered. But as he stood there holding Jean close to him, listening to his laughter in his ear and giving him weak smacks for his trouble, he knew he would take all the sappiness Jean had to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shut up Jean your dork is showing. 
> 
> Next chapter we have the Academy competition, and the tying up of loose ends wooooop. Hope you're ready for it!


	24. No reins p.I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the last updates I'm afraid! Yup, you heard, these are No Reins' final weeks. I've had such a blast writing this, and I'm gonna miss the dumb horse nerds, but I have a few more projects in mind that I want to get working soon, so watch out for them! :) 
> 
> So this was meant to be one big chapter but there is way too much word count and I've still not finished the chapter off so I'm splitting it into two- the next part will be up tomorrow once I've rounded it off and then edited the remaining word count. I might even merge 'em together afterwards, who knows? I don't, it's too late for me to think. And then there's an epilogue after that, which'll probably be done by the end of this week but who knows? Anything is possible right now *shot* 
> 
> Just advanced warning there is smut in this chapter (although I think it's bloody awful but shush ignore what I think) so proooobably not the best idea to go reading it surrounded by people. I learnt that lesson the hard way. Whoops. 
> 
> My tumblr (so you can shout at me) : http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/
> 
> Enjoy guys!

The rest of the day rushed by in a whirl for all at the riding stables. Despite Jean’s protests, Eleanor and Marco drove him to the local doctors for a check-up to ensure he really was alright and not suffering with the lasting effects of concussion, and the vet was called out for Sina and Titan in the meantime. Nile left in a hurry, muttering something about having to talk to Marlow in more ‘neutral territory’ whilst shooting worried glances at Levi, and the only one who hung back was Hannes. He promised to look after the stables, and the look Eleanor sent him only seemed to solidify the idea in Marco’s head of the two getting together. But the more he thought of it, the less he cared. The ride to the doctors was spent with Marco pressed up against the window and Jean cuddling into him like a lost cat, small kisses tickling his neck and making him titter every now and again. “Maybe you are concussed,” Marco murmured after Jean nuzzled his shoulder with something akin to a purr coming out of his mouth.

“Shut upp,” Jean snorted, pressing a kiss to Marco’s cheek and cuddling in closer. Marco hadn’t thought it was possible, but somehow Jean had managed. “I don’t even know why we’re going, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Hey, Sina’s having a check, so should you.”

“You trying to suggest I’m a horse, Bodt?”

Marco rolled his eyes and planted a kiss on the top of Jean’s head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Proud? Of me?” Jean grinned. “Why would you be proud of me?”

“Because you stood up to your Dad. I haven’t seen you do that before.”

Jean sighed and rested his head on Marco’s chest, the need for a seatbelt well and truly over as he wriggled onto his side. “I’m just getting braver, I guess,” he said, dropping another kiss onto Marco’s collarbone. “Suppose that’s down to you.”

Marco chuckled. “Well, I have the power, but I don’t like to boast.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re adorable.”

“... Touché.”

Jean was fine. Aside from a bit of bruising he was the picture of health, according to the doctor, though when he insinuated that Jean should wear a helmet next time Jean looked ready to get off the table and strangle him. Marco’s bumbling nerves, miraculously, managed to save the day. Jean kept hold of Marco’s hand the entire time they were at the doctor’s, and kept shooting the poor man glares whenever his eyeline wandered to them. He still didn’t let go when they were in the car on the way home, one hand gesticulating wildly in his animated conversation with Eleanor. The other remained firmly in Marco’s, their fingers locked together indefinitely, and Marco smiled every time he looked at them.

The vet was still there when they pulled into the stables, and made his way over with a tired smile. He had bathed the majority of Titan’s wounds, and said that the gelding seemed completely unfazed by the scratches and gouges. He handed Marco a small tub of ointment in case the wounds didn’t heal of their own accord, but he added that other than the scratches, Titan was healthier than most. Jean squeezed Marco’s hand at the information, and Marco squeezed right back. The vet then informed them that Sina would make a full recovery, though as she was lame she would need box rest for two months and gentle bathing of her foreleg to prevent any infection. Marco glanced at Jean. “That means she can’t compete at Trost,” he said.

Jean’s brows drew together as he moved past the vet and towards where Sina was tethered. The hand connecting them led Marco over too, and he watched as Sina tossed her head and let out a whicker of greeting to her owner. Jean rested his free hand on her nose, scratching it with a delicate touch, and Sina leant into him with a content sigh. “I don’t care if she can’t compete,” he said, running a hand down her swan-like neck. “I’m just glad she’s safe. I don’t want my baby girl hurting because of me.”

“She’ll be okay,” Marco assured him, and the thoughtful smile on Jean’s face was enough to send a thousand butterflies loose in his stomach.

Eleanor gave them both the day off, stating that Jean probably hadn’t had any sleep and Marco was too emotionally exhausted to work (something Marco had argued fruitlessly against) and ushered them into the house, forbidding them to go anywhere near anything remotely horse shaped for the entire day. “I can handle it!” she promised them, despite the fact Marco knew she probably couldn’t. But the minute they were shoved unceremoniously into the house and the door slammed behind them, Jean gave him the _look._ Marco knew the look. His stomach flipped. “J-Jean, no, we can’t, what if Mum comes in?”

Jean flicked his tongue against his bottom teeth. “Then she’ll think ‘woah, Jean is _good_ to get my son moaning like that’.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“You have to admit, that’s uncanny.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

Jean’s grin looked more like a leer as he yanked Marco up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Marco had no choice but to follow him, his mind screaming no but everything else singing ‘YES’ at the top of its lungs. All protests about anyone setting foot inside the house hearing them died the moment Jean had wrestled him into his room, kicked the door shut with his foot and had him on his back in the middle of his bed. Marco just couldn’t deny Jean anything. Jean’s kisses were frantic, fevered, and Marco lost his breath as it was drawn out of him by Jean’s lips.

Bit by bit he began to soften, his inhibitions slowly losing their certainty by the way Jean was running his hands everywhere he could reach. He even slipped them underneath his shirt to mould the muscles of his back in just the right way to get him arching against the body trapping him in place. Jean was lying on top of him, his kisses beginning to slow down as his hands pushed the fabric of Marco’s shirt up, up, up, until it was off completely, and Marco wiggled a little to get it off around his head and onto the floor. Once he had, he wound his arms around Jean and tilted his head back to feel Jean’s small, tender kisses across his throat and down onto his collarbone. He closed his eyes for a moment- only a moment- and felt the kisses stop. He opened one eye. “Jean?” he asked. “Is everything-?” He blinked at the boy resting on his chest.

Jean didn’t say anything.

His guttural snore said it all.

“Oh my god, I don’t believe you,” Marco said. “After all that, you dragged me up here, you get me horny and _then_ you fall asleep?” He poked Jean in the shoulder. “Hey! Wake up, you idiot!”

More snoring.

Marco was trapped, with a hard-on, and a sleeping Jean on his chest. _Perfect. Thanks, Jean. Love you too._ Marco huffed down at him. Jean had had a difficult evening, he reasoned. He probably hadn’t slept with worrying about Marlow and what had happened between them, and he was so stubborn he’d not mention it even if his body was begging him for sleep. Marco could understand- but that didn’t mean the situation wasn’t the single most frustrating thing he’d even been in. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, planting a small kiss against Jean’s forehead. He gently rolled Jean off of him and undressed him down to his boxers to make him more comfortable. The last burst of summer heat was rolling in from the window, and Marco was sure that Jean would thank him for it later. He freed himself of his own jeans, whimpering slightly on how blue-balled he was going to get now, but pulled Jean close to him regardless. He could be frustrated as hell, sure, but he couldn’t be mad at him.

Marco drifted in and out of sleep for hours, Jean still dead to the world beside him, and when he eventually fell asleep in the late evening the sudden, stabbing promise returned to his mind.

_The university._

_The horses._

_The arenas._

_Jean attending it reluctantly, miles away._

_Marco, stuck at home, wanting nothing more than to be there._  

He was sure that, as he slept, he held Jean just a little tighter than normal.

* * *

 

He was woken up the next morning by Jean’s lips brushing against the underside of his jaw. He lay there for a few minutes more, enjoying the feel of his skin waking up under the purposely gentle kisses, until he finally let out a small grumble and cracked an eye open. “Mm, morning,” he mumbled, seeing nothing but a flurry of ash blonde hair and the glint of Jean’s ear piercing. He felt Jean freeze as he plucked his arm from underneath his weight and threw it around his back, hid fingers dipping into the curve of Jean’s spine. “What time is it?”

“Dunno.” Jean sounded a little more awake than he was, so he opened his other eye reluctantly. Jean shuffled into sight, a vision of bed-headdy goodness with a lidded gaze, and Marco couldn’t prevent the lazy smile that fell across his face. “Early, I think. I feel like I slept for a hundred years, though,” Jean complained.

“You almost did, sleeping beauty,” Marco yawned, running his free hand back through his hair. “You’ve been asleep since we got upstairs. Unless you forgot that you fell asleep on me in the middle of trying to get me in the mood.”

“Hnn, I did?” Jean murmured, his back arching at Marco’s touch. “Ugh, I’m so sorry… was jus’ really sleepy…thought I dreamed that.”

“I might be able to forgive you,” Marco replied with a chuckle, letting his hand on Jean’s back smooth against the muscle he found there. “Might.”

Jean let out a hazy murmur. “I guess I have to make it up to you, then,” he said with a grin, and rolled on top of Marco, leaning down to kiss him. Marco melted against Jean’s lips, and brought a hand to rest on the side of Jean’s face, pulling him in closer. The way Jean could just flicker on like a lightbulb for him would never fail to startle Marco; but he also couldn’t help feeling a little proud of it, too. He eased his tongue into Jean’s mouth and let out a small, barely noticeable moan as Jean let him, a small shudder running through his body at the same time. He just sank into the kiss, a soft and satisfied sigh escaping his mouth between kisses, and Marco couldn’t help but go back for more. Jean tasted of addiction- Marco wouldn’t ever be able to quit him. More importantly, though, Jean tasted of home, and there was nothing that was going to change that for Marco. He pulled away moments later to rest his head against Jean’s, short of breath. Their eyes met, and Marco just smiled.

Jean’s returned smile was brighter than ever. “God, I love you,” he said.

“I’ve never going to get bored of hearing that,” Marco replied, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. And that was when he felt it. The strangely familiar tension down south. He looked down. And promptly turned a tasteful shade of pink. _God, why do you hate me?_

Jean snorted with laughter. “What’s wrong?”

“Um, nothing.”

Jean’s gaze then wandered downwards. He blinked away the last remnants of sleep. “Seems like something else isn’t bored of hearing it, either.”

Marco whined. “It’s official. My body hates me.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Jean’s smile suddenly became a lot more alert as one of his hands slid between their bodies. Marco gulped. He knew that look. He let a hiss of breath escape him as Jean skimmed his thumb along the tip of his cock as it strained against his boxers, and hid his face as his hips rose of their own accord. “If anything,” Jean continued, the smirk clear in his tone, “I’m rather flattered.”

“Jeeeaaannn,” Marco whined, his hips twitching again as he felt Jean stroke him through the yielding fabric. He couldn’t stop the moan that spilled out of him, but he quickly clapped a hand to his mouth afterwards. “What if someone hears-”

“Marco, it’s the morning. Your mum’s either sleeping like a rock or out in the yard.”

“L-Levi wanted to t-train- oh!” Marco’s gaze snapped down. He hadn’t noticed Jean slink lower down between his legs, but now the wet heat of his tongue was flicking against the fabric hiding the head of his cock with just enough pressure to leave him gasping. _Ohh, fuck you Jean Kirschtein._

“Levi can get in line behind me,” Jean murmured. “My beautiful boy needs attention, and attention is what I’m going to give him.” He glanced up at Marco from his place between his legs, and the glint in his eye made Marco twitch with frustration. He smiled, and dipped his hands down the back of Marco’s boxers to clutch at his ass whilst he planted kisses across his hip bones. “I need- to show you- how much- I love you,” he mumbled between kisses, pulling his boxers down inch by inch as he went. Soon they were off completely, and Marco didn’t have long to relish the sudden chill of being free. The heat was soon back, and Jean was running his tongue up the underside of Marco’s cock. The way he was grinning at him like it was a private joke was just making Marco flush deeper. He clapped a hand to his mouth and sunk against his pillow, trying not to make a sound as Jean sent spasms of heat and pleasure bolting through his system.

_Not fair not fair not fair._

But then he could feel it. The heat of Jean’s tongue curled around the tip of him, and then the slow, inescapable warmth that encased him as Jean took him in his mouth. Marco wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. It was _good,_ but it also felt like he was going to explode from the pressure of holding in his noises. What escaped from between the gaps in his fingers was something close to a whimper as he hollowed his back and shut his eyes tight. He hadn’t felt so suddenly in-tune with what his body wanted in his life, and it was threatening to overwhelm him. Jean then gave an experimental suck and Marco felt every nerve tense. He chanced a look down at Jean and his breath hitched. He’d never thought about how much of a turn on Jean might be with his cock in his mouth, but now he was thinking about it and _Jesus Christ_ Jean was smirking around him.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._

Marco had never found it so hard to keep quiet in his entire life. The hand clamped firmly on his mouth was shaking, barely muffling the gasps and moans that Jean seemed to draw out of him as he slowly moved his head up and down, his tongue laving up the already pulsing flesh until Marco let out a sharp gasp and brought a hand down to tangle in Jean’s hair. Jean let out a low chuckle, the tremors shooting straight down Marco’s cock and making him choke back a moan. “J-Jhnnn,” was all he managed to get out. Jean chuckled again- sending another unknowing treat rippling up through Marco’s body- and slowly pulled off of him. The ‘pop’ing noise that accompanied it should not have been hot. Not at all. But this was _Jean_. The way he tilted his head to one side with a stupid smirk and how he purred, “You’ll have to speak up,” was enough. His brow quirked up as he saw how valiantly Marco was trying to keep silent, and he grinned up at him. “Oh? Someone doesn’t want to hear the sound of his own voice? I’ll have to change that.”

“N-no, J-Jean plea- hnnn.” Marco threw his head back as he felt Jean’s mouth around him again and his tongue rolling against the underside, his free hand fisting into the bedsheets. He snapped his mouth shut and dug his teeth into his lip. This wasn’t fair. Jean was making him feel so good, but if anyone heard… if anyone heard… would that really be such a bad thing? One of Jean’s hands was trapping his hips against the bed, restricting his efforts to rock into the wet heat of his mouth, and it was enough to drive Marco mad. It was when Jean began to bob his head, taking more and more of Marco with slow, greedy sucks that Marco lost all restraint. Close to biting through his lip, he let out a loud, needy moan, and Jean couldn’t have looked more pleased if he tried. He pulled off of him torturously slow, making Marco whimper, before he rested his chin on Marco’s dark trail of hair to grin smugly up at him. Marco flushed. “Y-you’re an asshole,” he managed to get out, but from the chuckle he got in return he wasn’t taken seriously.

“Don’t challenge me, Bodt- it’s a fight you’ll lose,” Jean said, turning his head to kiss the base of him.

Marco shivered. He trailed a hand through Jean’s hair, snagging it in the unruly parts, and bit his lip. “G-get yourself up here,” he said, and Jean’s smirk only widened. He wriggled up the length of the bed and his own breath began to hitch as Marco nudged his jaw aside to nip at the sensitive skin of his neck, smoothing it over with kisses moments afterwards. “You’re – uhnn- still an asshole,” he muttered, slipping a hand down to tug at the waistband of Jean’s boxers impatiently.

“But an attractive asshole.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Heyyy.”

Marco grinned against Jean’s neck and shuffled to meet Jean’s eye. He felt the familiar flicker of nerves. “Uh, Jean?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Could we… I mean, you said you wanted to… do you-?”

Marco was surprised that, by some miracle, Jean had understood what he was getting at. His brows flew up, disappearing into his ruffled hair for a moment, before he asked. “Are you sure?” His voice was breathless, hopeful.

Marco nodded, planting a small kiss on Jean’s cheek. “Yeah, I am,” he said. He wasn’t _that_ sure, he decided as Jean gave him a small parting kiss before rolling away to look for the lube and condoms hidden away in his bedside table, but he knew it would be alright. Jean would look out for him, and there was nothing to worry about.

Except the fact that it was probably going to hurt a lot because it was his first time being… what was it even called? The bottom? The _fucked_ as opposed to the _fuck-ee_?

He didn’t know.

Ugh.

He let his eyes trace the muscles in Jean’s back as he searched through the drawers, muttering sharp curses as he went, and scooted a little closer to plant a kiss between his shoulder blades, smiling as he felt the muscles twitch in recognition. He kissed them again. And again. Just so Jean could feel it. Just so he knew. Jean’s search tripled in its desperation, which only made Marco chuckle to himself. Jean soon had the offending objects clasped in his hand, giving a small cheer as he rolled back to face Marco.

Marco clapped a hand to his face in light of Jean’s enthusiasm. “You’re such a dork,” he said.

“Yup,” Jean agreed, tilting Marco’s chin to meet his lips eagerly. He was drinking him in, savouring the taste of him on his tongue as he bobbed his head closer; Marco knew by now that Jean would only go slowly if he wanted a moment to be meaningful, and he loved every minute of it. He let out a shuddering moan, wrapping his arms around Jean’s waist and pulling him closer. He winced as he felt his abandoned cock rub against Jean’s boxers-clad one, and couldn’t help feeling satisfied by the way the air seemed to hiss out of Jean at the contact. The kiss was broken, and Jean was staring at him with a sense of urgency to his eyes. The amber was blazing. “I’ll help you,” he said, “a-and I promise it won’t hurt as much as you think it’s going to.”

“You don’t know how much I think it’s going to hurt.”

“Judging by your stricken expression I imagine it’s a lot.”

Marco snorted, sceptical as Jean uncapped the lube and spread some onto his fingers. “I don’t look ‘stricken’,” he defended.

“Yeah, you do.” Jean smiled and pressed his lips to Marco’s, his attempt at being soothing as he nudged Marco’s legs wider to accommodate him. Marco tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the kiss and how gorgeous Jean was and how good he was going to feel- but once he felt Jean’s finger slide into him he nearly bit into Jean’s lip at the slight flash of discomfort. “Try not to tense up like that, you’ll make it painful,” Jean said, kissing him briefly in apology. “Just try to relax, okay? Trust me.”

Marco swallowed painfully and tried. He tried his best. But the more Jean slid his finger around inside of him, the more he wanted to tighten his muscles around him. It was _hard._ He ended up resting his head on Jean’s shoulder, kissing and nipping at the skin he found there and not caring if it bruised. But little by little, he found himself easing into it, the movement feeling almost pleasant. He arched his hips experimentally and hid his face when Jean laughed. “Eager, huh?” Jean asked, adding another finger and slowly beginning to stretch him.  Marco let out a small hiss of pain and bit Jean again, twisting the skin between his teeth as he got used to the alien feeling. He felt Jean wince and shudder, and he knew that he was definitely going to be leaving his mark on Jean’s body this time. “Nn, hang on,” he suddenly heard Jean mutter, and was about to ask what was wrong. But then he felt Jean’s fingers curling up. He realised what he was trying to find. He squirmed down on Jean’s fingers willingly, begging him to find that spot, that one that Jean had found in himself and gotten so mad with it. And then he felt it.

It was like a hit to the face.

It was like an explosion.

It was like _dying._

His head fell back onto the pillows again, a cacophony of sultry noises spilling out of him as Jean continued to stroke the same spot, the heat rising in him far quicker than it ever had before. And then the fingers began to thrust into him, stretching him wider. “F-fuck, Jean,” he managed to wheedle out, scrunching his eyes up tight as he tried to ride the onslaught. “Nn… ah… _fuck_ …”

“Someone’s feeling eloquent today,” Jean commented with a barely contained smirk. “Loud, too. What happened to being quiet?”

“Jean, please,” Marco whined, bucking his hips against Jean’s teasing fingers with a desperation he’d not felt before. Here he was, practically spread eagled on his own bed, coming apart at the seams under Jean’s touch, and he was so embarrassed and ashamed but _god_ there was nothing else he could do because it felt _too good._ “J-Jean, stop being a sassy little shit and fuck me, please.”

That seemed incentive enough.

Marco felt empty when Jean slid his fingers out and ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth, but his pulse definitely picked up as he watched him rid himself of his boxers and roll it on with generous helpings of lube. He sank back against the bed, waiting, and then he saw Jean crawl up the length of the bed towards him and he almost lost the last of his inhibitions. Almost. Jean was staring at him, devouring him almost as he let his eyes rove everywhere, and for once, Marco wasn’t conscious. He merely reached out a hand and let his fingers interlink with Jean’s. “Fuck, I am so lucky,” Jean said, laughing half-heartedly at the ridiculously romantic remark before trailing his free hand through Marco’s hair. “I am though. You’re… you’re something else.”

Marco did blush then. “J-Jean, stop it…”

“No, shush,” Jean ordered, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You okay? You don’t want to stop or-?”

The genuine concern in Jean’s face made Marco grin like an idiot and shake his head. “Jean, for God’s sake, please just do me.”

“Since when did I become the delicately phrased one of this relationship?”

Marco scowled at him and rolled his hips against him, drawing out a much-desired moan. “Stop talking,” he said, “that’s my job.”

Jean chuckled at that, but then he was shifting Marco down, moving in closer until Marco could feel him hesitating, wondering. And then he was inside of him, pushing in like he belonged there, and it was all Marco could do to stop himself from crushing Jean against him. Jean had been right; it didn’t hurt as much as he thought, only felt strange. Jean was kissing the side of his neck, making the skin prickle, and Marco could tell that Jean was wary. He didn’t want to hurt Marco. He never did. Marco took hold of Jean’s face with both hands, ignoring the startled look in the other boy’s eyes, and drew him down to him, swiping his tongue against Jean’s bottom lip as he eased into him with a little more confidence. Marco broke it only to rest his head against Jean’s forehead and smile. “I’m fine, you dummy,” he chided. “I’m always going to be fine, with you looking out for me.”

Jean sniffed. “Debateable.”

“Shut up, dork.”

And then Marco was kissing him again, giving his hips a careful roll against Jean and letting out a breathless noise into Jean’s mouth. That single noise, not his words, seemed to signal to Jean that it was okay to move, because then he was moving, they were moving, and his breath began to come harder to him. He crossed his legs around Jean as they rocked together, slow and careful, Jean still taking it cautiously and Marco just wanting to commit the feeling of being fucked by Jean to memory. Again, he hadn’t expected how purely _tender_ Jean could be, and how he would delicately break their kiss and pattern Marco’s neck and throat with tiny little mockeries of kisses, hips rolling into him at a steady pace with no need for change. He was gorgeous and flawed, and Marco loved him for it.

He wanted to move like that forever, every rock bringing him closer, but then he grasped for more. When he arched up to whisper, “fuck me harder,” into Jean’s ear he thought, for a brief second, that he had broken Jean. If it was even possible, Jean’s face fast became the colour of a firetruck. He wanted to laugh, but thought that would probably make Jean blush even more. Instead, Jean let out a small squeak that sounded awfully like an “okay” and began to vary his movements. He thrust against him with a new found energy that made the moans spill out of Marco like they had been queued up behind his lips, waiting. Marco began to thrust back against Jean, matching his rhythm as he watched the way Jean seemed to be falling apart too.

Their kisses became sloppy, urgent, trailing saliva down between them as Jean quickened his pace again, and all Marco could do was hold on. He held onto Jean’s neck, his shoulders, nails digging into his pale skin as the thrusts became more, and the moment Jean managed to brush against the spot he’d been taunting for so long before all Marco could hear was white noise.

He arched his spine against the feeling, forcing Jean deeper inside of him with a strangled moan, and it only took a few whimpered begs for, “more”, and a few more thrusts and then he was coming, coming without any warning but it was relentless and amazing and _fuck_. Every muscle in his body seemed to constrict as his orgasm surged through the entirety of him and he was clinging to Jean, and clinging onto him tight.

He hadn’t even felt Jean come, too lost in his own, but by the way he was collapsed on top of him and panting heavily, Marco knew he must have. He dragged a hand through his hair tiredly, gasping for breath himself. “Fuck,” was all he seemed capable of saying.

“That good, huh?” Jean mumbled, pressing a kiss to Marco’s chest as he carefully pulled out of him. “I didn’t even have to jerk you off, shit, I’m really that good?”

Marco gave him a shove. “That felt different,” he muttered, choosing to ignore his last comment. “Different to when I-”

“It does,” Jean replied. “I think my heart wants to burst out of my chest, jeez you are a demanding fuck.”

Marco laughed. “Am I really?”

“Hell fucking yes, your fucking whispering almost gave me an aneurism.”

“Your face _was_ screaming ‘blue screen of death’ I have to admit.”

Jean snorted and rested his head on Marco’s chest, still panting. “And I was worried you weren’t going to like it, Jesus…”

"I was never not going to like it," Marco admitted, "I was just nervous. But now I know how... great it is..."

"Careful, you'll start getting me arrogant."

"Like you're not already."

"Woah, fucking ouch Freckles."

Marco sniggered and wriggled down a little more. "Mmm, let me sleep now."

"Can't, it's getting late." Jean chuckled when all he got in response was a tired groan from Marco and a feeble attempt at crawling away from him. "Come on, up and at 'em Boy Scout. Levi's coming to assess you at 12."

Marco peered at Jean through the gaps in his dark hair. It needed cutting, he thought absently. He let out a questioning whimper at the information and turned his face away. Deprived of sleep was one thing, but having to deal with Levi barking at him too? Was the world out to get him? "How do you know that?" he whined.

"You got a message when you were asleep."

Marco's eyes opened again. "You read my messages?" he asked, unmoving.

"Only the one from Levi." Jean left a trail of kisses from Marco's jawline to his swollen lips, tilting his head back to face him as he went. "And if you got that message beforehand it wouldn't have exactly put you in the mood."

Oh, so that's how it was. "All part of your devious plan to do me, was it?" he asked. He smirked when he saw the shifty look Jean gave him and linked his hands around the other boy's middle, squeezing gently. "Sneaky bastard."

"You loved it." Jean kissed the tip of Marco's nose. "I know how much you wanna stay curled up with me- I mean, who wouldn't, I am amazing-" at this Marco laughed, "- but you really should shower. Levi will be here soon, and unless you wanna give him another peep show..."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Marco complained, rolling free of Jean and standing at the foot of his bed. "There, there, I'm up, happy?"

Jean was grinning like the Cheshire cat as he spread out on Marco's bed, cheeks still flushed and the kindling only just dying down in his eyes. Marco decided that Jean laying there, practically purring with how satisfied he was, was the most gorgeous thing in the world. Maybe the light seeping through his curtains helped. Maybe they helped a lot. Especially when the bands of light striped around Jean's body and the way he was staring at him-

"Oiiii, Bodt, get going, go on," Jean prompted, knocking Marco out of his private appraisal.

"I love you," Marco blurted out. There was no need to say it, no desperate desire to, but it was there nonetheless. Marco just couldn't get over the fact that he could say that now and not have to think of the consequences that came with it. It felt...fresh. New.

Jean's brows raised. "You trying to get back into this bed? Because believe me if you weren't running late you'd be back here by now."

Marco winced at the word 'late'. "How late?" he asked.

Jean popped his lips as he checked Marco's phone. "Quarter to ten," he said.

"Oh fucking hell!" Marco charged out of the bedroom like a thing possessed, the thought of annoying Levi lodged firmly into his brain, and Jean's cackles followed him all the way to the bathroom.

But Marco couldn't stay mad.

Because everything was fine.

* * *

 

"Keep your eyes trained on the jump, keep your focus!"

"Yeah, keep your fine ass in the saddle too!"

"Shut the fuck up, Kirschtein!"

Marco rolled his eyes as he swept around the corner of the arena like he was floating on it, Titan blowing gently through his nose at every stride. It had been a fortnight. A gruelling, challenging fortnight. Levi's assessment of him those weeks ago had been harsh, but fair. Marco hadn't competed for three years, and neither had Titan. They weren't fresh. They weren't primed. They had been, in Levi's words, so far away from winning at Trost they would fail a shitting contest. The training regime, therefore, had been an intense one. Levi had him training at 6 in the morning after handing out the morning feeds until 8, and then he would return to the stables to train again in the evening, just like he had promised. But he was certain, he said, that they would be in competing condition by the time he was through with them. And, as Marco turned in an elegant arc towards the fast approaching jump, he was sure that the trainer would not make such a promise lightly.

"Keep him on the bit!" Levi ordered. "Look ahead, give him some encouragement!"

And...

Titan jumped.

His form was improving in leaps and bounds; he hadn't been as bad as Buchwald, but the way he combatted fences was what Levi called 'sloppy' and ‘attacking’. "It'll be acceptable at Jinae's showgrounds," he'd said, "but at Trost he wouldn't stand a chance. He can’t treat the jumps like they’re enemies- he needs to _show_ he likes it."

"The fences are made to put horses off," Jean had added that session, leaning against the fence to watch the pair. "Titan won't get put off by the fences easily, but it's the height that's deceiving. A lot of the jumps look smaller than they are, and that's where the horses make the mistakes as well as the distance."

Levi looked a little happier as Marco pulled Titan up, reaching down to give the gelding a pat. "He's working a lot better now. He's got a fluid movement, it's not so jerky and strangled. That's his natural gait, Bodt, and don't let him snatch that away from you. The more it feels natural to him, the better it'll be for the round. At the showgrounds he was being held back- you need to let him go. Within reason, obviously."

Marco nodded, straightening up in the saddle as Titan arched his neck at the impudent little two-legged bossing him about. Marco scratched a tiny spot on Titan's wither to keep him steady. "Do you want me to take him around again?" he asked.

"I'll put the oxer up, and then yeah, bring him around." Levi strode towards the jump with a little bounce to his step.

"Someone's making the leprechaun happy."

Marco turned Titan around to see Jean grinning against the fence. Marco gave him a dry smile and nudged Titan over, the gelding complying with no resistance. "If he hears you call him that...and if you make another comment, he'll-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, guts for garters and all that." Jean reached out a hand to scratch Titan’s nose, and the gelding leaned in close, butting his nose into Jean's waiting palm with a whicker. It was a happy noise, and it made Marco smile to hear it.

Titan's trust for people was also improving; after the incident with Marlow in the paddock, the gelding had shied away from strangers a little and become more subdued around the human company at the stables. It wasn't like Marlow had actually hurt him, but Titan was more intelligent than people assumed. Marco was convinced that the gelding knew Marlow had been there to cause trouble, and that was what had caused his uncertainty. He still had his suspicions with Levi, and the love that wasn’t lost between them was clear, but Jean and he were as thick as thieves. As if to clarify, Titan tried to push himself closer to the fence to reach for Jean's pockets.

"Hey, hey now!" Marco laughed, pulling him back, "don't start looting people's pockets for treats, it's not polite!" Titan neighed in annoyance and swung his haunches out, but it barely bothered Marco. He just moved with him, talking all the while, and the gelding stilled. A far cry from the beginning of the summer, but he tried not to dwell on it. A lot had changed since then.

“I deserve it, I have sugared almonds,” Jean said with a grin, fishing one out and offering it to Titan. The gelding’s ears pitched forward and he took the treat from Jean with a strange delicacy, crunching it in his back teeth with a snort of pleasure.

Marco chuckled. “You definitely know how to get on his good side.”

A loud whinny grabbed their attention. Sina was tied in the yard, a bucket of soapy water from where Jean had been planning to wash her left to cool next to her. Her foreleg was devoid of bandages for the moment, the fresh ones waiting in line along with the sponge, and the wound looked so much smaller than Marco had thought it was. Marco couldn’t be sure, but the injury looked cleaner too, as though it was healing. “She looks better,” he noted. “She has the shine in her eye back.”

“Yeah, she headbutted me in the stable earlier so I’ll say she’s healing fine. Still won’t be able to compete, though.” Jean’s lips drew together at the thought, and Marco let his smile slip a little. He had been so caught up in Titan and training himself that he had forgotten about Jean and Sina being out of action for the competition. Jean watched the mare nibble at the rope that tethered her to the rung in the yard, and Marco felt a twinge of guilt. “It’ll still take some time, but she’ll manage,” Jean added absent-mindedly. “It’s her leg, so…”

Marco nodded. He understood. Horses’ legs were the most vital part of their body. A horse could work blind, deaf, scratched to pieces, but a nick in the wrong place on a single leg could mean the end of not only their career, but their lives. He shuddered to think about it. Sina was one of the lucky ones.

She whinnied again, her patience with her owner quickly ebbing, and the trumpeting neigh Titan returned made Marco quake in the saddle. “Are you going to compete anyway?” he asked, trying to ignore the way Jean was grinning at his horse. Jean had trained so hard, after all- it was a waste of talent if he didn’t. Marco saw how much heart Jean put into his riding; it wasn’t difficult to see how much it meant to him, even though he said he never wanted to compete in proper circuits. It was more than that for him. Much more. And Marco could tell.

Jean looked like he was thinking something through. Eventually, he said, “I was going to enter Buchwald.”

“Buchwald?” Marco said. The thought of Jean competing on the spindly young gelding he loved so much was enough to bring a wide grin to his face. “That’s great!”

“Well, my Dad doesn’t quite agree with you on that one. You should have heard him on the phone- I think he managed to make new swear words, who’d have thought?”

The smile on Jean’s face prompted Marco to ask, “But?”

“But,” Jean grinned, “he said yes. Eventually. He felt that it might make our relationship a little less strained.”

Marco beamed as Jean leaned closer to stroke Titan’s nose. The boy Marco met a few months ago would have backed down, shrunk away like a child at the moment his father said so. But this Jean was brimming with the confidence he had always wanted. He deserved it. He was practically _glowing_ with it.

Marco thought he would never be more in love with him.

“Bodt! Stop giving your boyfriend the eyes and jump this oxer!” Levi shouted from his corner.

Marco rolled his eyes and turned Titan back to face the arena- and Levi’s relentless wrath. “I’ll see you later, if I survive!” he called over his shoulder.

“I heard that, you little shit!”

“Whoops.”

He heard Jean’s stifled laughter as he focused on the task at hand. The oxer. Right. He gathered up Titan’s reins and guided his horse into a solid working canter, his leg barely aching now as he relaxed in the saddle. Titan’s canter really was smooth, his height allowing the extension of his stride and making everything so much more comfortable. He let Titan canter a circuit of the arena before turning him down towards the oxer, giving the reins over like Levi had taught him as Titan lengthened his stride. The canter was suddenly more elongated, more urgent, and Marco got ready to curl himself into the gelding’s neck as they bore down on the jump with two strides to go… one…

Titan launched himself over the oxer like he had been out of practice for weeks instead of years, landing neatly on the other side with a heavy snort. Marco let out a breath as the gelding cantered on, ears pricked and eager.

“Take him over again at a sharper angle,” Levi commanded, and Marco did just that. Titan cleared it with an arrogant flick of his tail.

“Right you little bastard,” Levi said, a small smirk gracing his face, “if you think you’re so smart, let’s do some combination work.” Combinations was something Titan always tripped up on; it was mainly down to his naturally long stride and inability to manoeuvre particularly well between short and long strides in such a small space of time. But, as Marco kept on telling himself, practice makes perfect.

An hour and a half later and they were done, Titan covered in a thin layer of sweat and Marco’s shirt sticking to his back unpleasantly. “Good work,” Levi remarked, walking beside Titan as they rode out of the arena, “he’s improving. You might actually have a chance now.”

“Thanks,” Marco snorted.

Levi’s brow rose at the sarcasm. “You don’t pay me to lie to you, Bodt. You didn’t have a hope in hell two weeks ago. Now, you do. It’s as simple as that.”

“I don’t pay you at all.”

“That’s what you got from that?”

Once they got into the yard Levi made his excuses to leave before he was shepherded into the house by an over- welcoming Eleanor. It had happened once and Marco had never seen such horror in Levi’s eyes when he was manhandled to the table and forcefed some sort of pasta dish his mother had attempted. It was pretty obvious that Levi didn’t do domestic- especially the Eleanor Bodt kind of domestic.

Marco said his goodbyes (returned in gruff kind by the trainer) and dismounted, running up Titan’s stirrups and unfastening the girth in what felt like a single movement. Titan let out a groan of relief and shook himself in a bid to free himself further. It only meant that his saddle went flying towards Marco quicker than he’d anticipated. “Ouch, thanks Titan, thanks a lot,” he muttered amid the gelding’s whickers, slinging the saddle over his shoulder and carefully looping the reins around the rung in the yard. He would need to hose Titan down a little to wash off the sweat, and though Marco’s stomach was gurgling for food and his legs aching for rest, he walked off in the direction of the tack room with a heavy sigh. Horses were a lot of work, but he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. 

He stopped when he heard Jean’s voice. At first, he was tempted to hide in the darker parts of the yard and pounce on him like the child he was turning out to be, but then he heard him pause before talking again and realised he was on the phone. Stepping a little closer, he craned his head around the corner. He wasn’t a nosey person by nature, but if Jean was involved he was. Marco liked to call it ‘caring curiosity’. And Jean didn’t sound too happy.

“What do you mean you’ll cancel it?” he was saying. “You can’t do that, trust me, you’d be making a big mistake… I understand the circumstances are unorthodox, but you have to listen to me…” He was pacing the length of the yard by the tack room, running a hand through his hair as he talked, and the wild look he was giving the phone made Marco’s stomach spike unnaturally. Jean was pausing now, obviously listening to whoever was on the other line, and Marco could see the way he was glaring at thin air. _Never a good sign._ “You can’t do that, not when you haven’t seen- look, don’t chuck it out, not yet, think things through. You don’t want to miss out, honestly… No, I’m not just saying that, it’s the gods-honest truth! L-look, can you just… lady… lady, listen to me… thank you. There’s a showjumping competition at Trost Academy this Saturday. Come and find me there, and I’ll show you. You won’t regret it, I swear.” Another heavily pregnant pause. The tension in Jean’s shoulders slackened as he heard whatever the person on the other line had said. “Thank you,” he said, a little lighter now, “and you’ll see why I did it. You’ll see.” And with that, he hung up.

Marco stepped out of his hiding place with a frown. Jean didn’t notice him, his back to Marco and head tilted up to the sky. He looked like he was smiling, but Marco couldn’t be certain. “Jean?” he tried. Jean spun around like a spinning top, eyes wide. Marco snorted. “Don’t freak out, it’s just me.”

If anything, this made Jean more worried. “What are you doing here?” he jabbered.

“I… live… here?” Marco replied.

“No, no, I mean what are you doing _here_. Right now?”

“Er… taking Titan’s saddle to the tack room? He needs a hose down too, and a bit of a brush before I settle him for the night. You might as well go inside, the evening feeds are probably done by now.” Marco hesitated. He wondered whether he should bring up the cryptic telephone conversation Jean had been having. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He wanted to know what Jean was up to, who he was speaking to- the only person who came to mind was Petra, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t her. “Who, uh, was on the phone?” he asked, trying to seem as casual as possible.

Jean frowned. “On the phone?”

“Yeah, just now. I heard you talking.”

“How much did you hear?”

Marco blinked, wrong-footed by the question. “Er… nothing that made sense?”

“Good.” Jean grinned.

Marco was even more confused now. _What the hell was going on?_ He decided to press Jean a little more. “Sounded important,” he said.

“Mmhmm, very important, super important, top notch important.” Jean nodded. He then glanced at the saddle. “Didn’t you say you needed to put that away and get him hosed down? I could help, and then we could have dinner together.”

Marco wasn’t sure he liked the way Jean was giving such bizarrely vague answers, but gave a small shrug anyway and let Jean follow him into the tack room, heaving Titan’s saddle onto its holder with a grunt. Jean was entitled to secrecy, and if it was that important he would have told him. Jean shared most things with him, anyway, so it would probably reach him soon enough.

Jean’s secrecy after that, if anything, increased. The strange phone-call wasn’t repeated, but Jean seemed to remain stuck in thought for the rest of the week leading up to the competition. Buchwald was brought to the stables (despite Eleanor’s protests that there was no room) but Jean’s training sessions appeared distant and distracted. He would warm Buchwald up with a few cross poles, then work on a few jumps in succession, but nothing that seemed to stick. The gelding didn’t seem to be improving all that much either, though his bouncy enthusiasm was unable to be quashed.

Jean paid a lot more attention to Marco’s riding, often stopping his own sessions short to watch him and shout out pointers from the sidelines. _That was all well and good,_ Marco thought to himself, _but the university wouldn’t accept second- rate riders onto their campus._

His innards twisted at the thought; not because of Jean failing, but Jean going at all. The summer had an unpleasant way of reminding Marco that days were numbered and no matter what happened, Jean would probably be going off to the university of Marco’s dreams and leaving Marco stranded alone. Jean didn’t need to know that, obviously, and they would see each other, but that was how it felt to Marco. It felt _abandoning._ But when he looked at the way Jean seemed so indifferent to training, he wondered if maybe Jean was being truthful; he really didn’t care about competing anymore. He tried to reassure himself about it; he would remind himself that it wasn’t that bad, that he was being a simpering drama queen, that Jean would have a great time and everything would be fine.

That was the mature side of Marco’s brain talking.

The immature side wanted to latch onto Jean’s ankles and not let him go, however clingy and pathetic that sounded.

And when the day of the Trost Academy showjumping competition finally dawned, Marco felt it sound like a death knoll. The inhabitants of the stables were up at the crack of dawn (even Jean complained) and the coiling nerves began to kick in for Marco just as they sat around the table, Hanji joining them a few minutes later complaining of a hangover. “You all have to eat!” Eleanor chided as she herded the over-16s into the kitchen where a groggy Marco, Jean and Hanji sat. Marco watched them all file in. Mikasa. Eren. Sasha. Connie. He had been here before, in the same kitchen watching the group talk excitedly about the oncoming challenges, but he had been on the side lines back then, looking in longingly. This time, he was one of them. It felt good, despite the churning in his stomach. The group sunk onto the table, still half asleep as Eleanor poured them coffee and made breakfast with bizarre energy. “How is everyone feeling?” she asked briskly. “Nervous?”

“Too tired to be nervous,” Eren grumbled, nearly head-butting the plate of toast slid his way. Sasha took a slice off the top of the pile before Eren noticed. “Jus’ wanna kick their posh boy asses.”

“Wow, Jaeger’s even committed when he’s sleep walking!” Jean chuckled. “I’m impressed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Language at the table!” Eleanor scolded, giving Eren a clip around the ear. “Anyway, I was going to say that these riders you’ll be competing against aren’t just from Trost. They will be coming from private stable yards and academies across the area, and they are going to be good. This is bigger than any showgrounds meet- this is _big_ guys, and I have every confidence that you’ll try your hardest, as will the horses.” Her smile was bright, but Marco knew how stressed his mother had been about it. She wanted to show Jacques Kirschtein what her students were capable of, and Marco wanted nothing more than their riders to blow him out of the water and wipe the smug smirk off his face.

“Thanks, Mrs Bodt,” Sasha said through a mouthful of toast, spraying the table with crumbs as she did so.

“We’ll try our hardest,” Mikasa vowed, “and I promise we’ll make you proud.”

“Yeah, so long as Connie stays on his horse this time.”

“Come on Eren, that was one time!”

“One time or several?”

“Okay guys,” Eleanor cut in, clapping her hands together in a business- like fashion. “Start getting the horses pampered. I need to sort out the horsebox. Mush.”

And that was that. With a scraping of chairs and newly awakened butterflies, the group burst out, blinking, into the fresh dawn. “Well, let’s get down to business,” Eren muttered, more to himself than anyone else, and strode towards the stable that held Magic.

A lot had to be done. The horses had to be groomed to perfection, their manes neatened, hooves oiled and tack gleaming with a good clean. Thankfully, Marco had cleaned the tack the night before with the help of his mother, Jean, and new victim Hannes. The horses, however, were by far the hard part. The silent yard soon became a hub of activity, sleepy horses hauled from their stables and lining up every available space, some still snoozing and others more awake and alert. Riders were zipping everywhere, shouting for a dandy brush or a sponge, and often getting into fights about who got the good hoof oil.

Marco had decided to tether Titan outside his stall, and was busy using a stepping stool to reach the gelding’s mane. Titan had been an afterthought at the showgrounds- now, Marco wanted people to notice him. He was making sure the braids were tight and neat, sitting like the spines of a dragon along the thick neck of his horse, and once that was done he gave him a further once-over with the body brush. He needn’t have bothered- Titan was shining. He didn’t notice Jean behind him until he heard a wolf-whistle. He turned around with a smile. “That could be seen as harassment, you know.”

“I’ll live.” Jean’s eyes shifted to Titan. “Hey, Bumble, looking good bud.” Titan nickered in reply. “That’s right, fillies will be fawning over you.”

“Don’t encourage him, he shows off at the best of times,” Marco joked. “How does Buchwald look?”

“Like he was hand-crafted by Thorntons,” Jean replied. “Never realised how chocolate brown he is.”

Marco chuckled, reaching out to take Jean’s hand. “I can’t wait to see him jumping,” he said.

 “Honestly, so am I,” Jean said. “It’s going to be… interesting.” He laughed, lacing their fingers together like it was a natural reaction. His grin softened until it was tender, and for a moment Marco forgot his nerves. “But I don’t care if he doesn’t win. He won’t. Probably because I’m already backing someone else?”

“Oh?”

“I want you to win.”

Marco stared at him. “J-Jean, I’m just hoping Titan and I go around the course in one piece, I never thought of-”

“You can win!” Jean’s fingers squeezed Marco’s softly. “I know you can. Titan’s a top class competitor, and so are you.”

“You’re flattering, but blind faith only goes so far.”

“Just try your best, then. That’s gotten you so many places so far.”

Marco was going to snipe back, but Jean’s expression stopped him. There was an almost fierce determination flashing in his eyes, a determination he’d only seen a few times, and it was startling. Marco, again, felt like he was being left out of the loop somewhere along the line. But he nodded, and gave Jean a smile. “Of course I’m going to try my best, Jean. And if I win, well, that would only be a plus.”

Jean sniggered at that. “Wow, you really don’t have a competitive bone in your body, do you?”

“Nope.”

Jean rolled his eyes playfully. “You are beyond help. Anyway, I better get going. The first shift of horses is going soon and Buchwald’s not done. Don’t worry,” he added, “we’re the last ones. You have time to change, unless you’re riding Titan into battle dressed like a slob.” He grinned and leaned in for a small kiss, and again the butterflies vanished. “Although I do like you in slob chic. Very dashing.”

“Hey, these are my best slob clothes, don’t you know,” Marco murmured, kissing him again before pulling away and giving him a playful shove. “Go on, go sort Buchwald out and I’ll go change!” He turned away before Jean vanished around the corner, but he was sure he felt the burn of his gaze on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next bit tomorra~


	25. No reins p.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. This is the last chapter of No Reins. Can't actually believe I made it this far. And without all of your lovely comments, reassurance and love I don't think I would have, so thank you so much for the journey, it's been awesome <3 If you'd have told me 6 months ago that the strange little fic I was writing whilst on holiday in the Forest of Dean for my 21st birthday was going to be loved by so many people, I think I would have laughed. Hard.
> 
> So yes, just... thank you. 
> 
> As always, my tumblr is here: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/ and I'll be posting a few oneshots there, whilst also plotting for my upcoming fic called Waiting For Superman, so give me a follow if you're interested :)   
> But anyway. Let's finish off the dumb horse nerds. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and thanks again.

Marco didn’t have time to change.

He’d gotten so caught up looking after the other horses and making sure everyone else was ready and had everything they needed that the time had run out and he was forced to leap into the back seat of the trailer with his competition clothes bundled in his lap. He tried his best to keep his shakes in check as his hands rested on the material, but Jean noticed. “Hey,” he said, laying a hand on top of Marco’s, “it’ll be okay. You can dress when we get there.” Jean hadn’t _really_ changed either; he had his jodhpurs on, but his shirt and jacket were left abandoned somewhere in the confines of the car. If it bothered Marco that much, at least he wouldn’t be alone with it.

“It’s not just that,” Marco mumbled. The thought had been squirming around in his stomach like a worm for days. Weeks. “I’m just going to miss you. After the summer, I mean. When you’re at university.” He hadn’t actually mentioned it before. Not really. It was a relief to hear it in the air instead of constricting his lungs.

Jean just smiled. “I’ll come back.”

“I know. Ugh, I’m sorry,” Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s mad. A-and it’s selfish, because I was the one who told you to go because you weren’t keen and-”

“Marco, stop.” Jean’s hand squeezed Marco’s. “You’re allowed to say that. Don’t apologise. It’s okay to say that you’ll miss me. I’d be kinda offended if you didn’t. And I’ll miss you, too. _Really_ miss you. But… me going away… it wouldn’t change anything.” He grinned and leaned over to kiss his temple. “Dummy, did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?”

Marco flushed. He felt stupid even thinking about it. “You’d call me?” he asked.

Jean laughed. “All the time.”

“Text me?”

“At every opportunity.”

“Skype me?”

“You’re so needy. I love it.”

“A-am not!”

Jean’s hand stayed on Marco’s throughout the journey to Trost, stilling his shakes and reassuring him that even if university was going to bring them apart, he was there for the moment. Just for the moment. And that was all Marco needed. His hand was squeezed even tighter when the sign for the Academy loomed into view, and Eleanor finally spoke up from the front seat.  “The others are already in the practice area- Armin’s here, so he’s showing them around- if you tether Titan and Buchwald outside you’ll have to use the trailer to change, Marco. Sorry it’s not more glamorous than that, sweetie.”

“That’s alright,” Marco replied. “I don’t mind.” He shuffled in his seat to look out of the window, and his stomach immediately plummeted.

There were horses everywhere, but they weren’t like the ones he was used to. It was as though there was one ideal horse shape and it was simply stretched, resized and recoloured into every single horse he saw being warmed up by their owners. Chestnuts, greys, bays, duns- but no black horses to speak of. Marco inhaled sharply. There was an innate feeling of being out at sea, and being way further out of his depth than he had expected.

“Don’t freak out,” Jean warned.

“I won’t. Just-” Marco chuckled weakly. “These horses all look like machines.”

“That’s their problem. Machines don’t have the brains to move independently of their rider.” As they pulled into the signposted site, the upper field having been opened up for the trailer, Marco saw the flash of a grin on Jean’s face. “That’s what makes your horses different.”

“Flattering, dear, but Marco’s right. We can’t let ourselves get complacent, especially when we have these animals to contend with.” Eleanor killed the engine and swung out of the door. “I’m going to catch up with the others. Come find us when you’re dressed, Marco. And Jean, keep an eye on him. When he gets nervous he tries to run away.”

“Roger that,” Jean grinned as Marco rolled his eyes and waved his concerned mother away.

Marco left his clothes in the backseat as he helped Jean unload the horses. Buchwald came out first, his head up and eyes bright with recognition of his home as he stepped down the ramp like a circus performer.

Titan was very, very different.

Titan leapt the length of the ramp with a loud squeal of excitement the moment he was let loose, shaking his head fiercely to rid himself of the halter. “Titan!” Marco yelped, his arms nearly pulled out of his sockets as the gelding bunny- hopped forward, unsettling Buchwald when he let out a shrill whistle. People were definitely looking at them now, Marco thought with flaming cheeks as he wrestled with the giant.

“Woah, look at that horse!”

“He’s gigantic!”

“Must be a stallion!”

“Looks dangerous!”

“Did you see the scope of that jump though?! My God!”

Eventually Titan calmed, though his eyes were still everywhere and his body still quivered. Marco let out a breath. “Hey, come on now, it’s alright,” he soothed, drawing close enough to lay a hand on him. The gelding was warm, but not sweating. That was a good sign.

“Everything okay?” Jean asked, appearing from the side of the trailer where he’d tied Buchwald.

“I think so.” Marco was surprised that he wasn’t shaking. “Just need to get it out of his system.”

The eyes were still on them, but Jean’s glacial look seemed to wilt them a fraction. “Don’t worry, he’s fine, let’s just get him tied up. The longer he’s out here the quicker he’ll get used to it.”

After the initial explosion of nerves and excitement, Titan behaved impeccably. He stood with a calm detachment next to Buchwald, watching the goings on with little reaction as Marco checked his legs for soundness beneath his wraps. Jean had to end up shooing him away into the trailer and passing his competition clothes through the gap in the door. “Titan is fine!” he called out, “and it’s time for you to get spruced up, come on!”

Marco rolled his eyes, but retreated into the corner of the trailer and shed his shirt, glancing over his shoulders to check that no one was peeking on him. The light in the trailer wasn’t the best, and as Marco shifted on the cotton shirt with the starched collar that was never soft enough, he found it difficult to get the buttons right. “Come on, you stupid thing!” he cursed, fingers shaking with the effort and his panic only making them worse. They would be on soon and he wanted to walk the course and check the distance, watch the others’ rounds, see Jean’s, and then it would be time for his and _he wasn’t ready not at all oh God he wanted to run away._

The small creak of the trailer door opening startled him. It was Jean.

“D-don’t sneak up like that!” Marco hissed, clutching his chest as Jean stepped closer into the gloom. He’d replaced his loosely fitting T-shirt with the customary white shirt, and unfortunately for Marco, he looked incredible in it. He’d even shrugged on his navy competition jacket, and undone looked even better. Marco flushed. He had sworn that green was Jean’s colour, but blue? Blue could be a close contender.

Jean seemed to notice Marco’s eyes drinking in the view, and the cocky grin Marco got in response just made him blush more. “Having trouble?” he asked, sauntering towards him with a lazily raised eyebrow.

Marco tried not to look flustered. He tried _so_ hard. He failed. “I-I’m just nervous,” he managed to blurt out.

“I can tell.” Jean batted Marco’s trembling hands away and began to unbutton the wrongly fastened buttons. He made a show of running his tongue along his teeth as he smirked. “You know what the best thing for getting rid of nerves is?”

“I-imagine everyone naked?” Marco all but squeaked as he felt Jean’s hand slip underneath the fabric an inch to draw the material closer around him. Jean let out a husky chuckle and began to button up his shirt, his fingers toying with the buttons with deftness. Marco inhaled sharply. He never thought that someone _dressing him_ could hold such an erotic undertone, but his nerves were quickly being replaced with the pounding of blood in his veins for an entirely different reason.

“Nope,” Jean muttered, reaching the buttons near to Marco’s throat and smoothing the fabric out a little. “You have to release all that tension. Best way of doing that is to orgasm.” Jean’s grin was a dry one. “Trust me, works every time.”

Marco’s cheeks turned brighter than ever. “Wh-what?! Jean, no, we can’t-” His protests were cut short when Jean tilted his head up and kissed a spot underneath his pulse. He felt it flutter not unlike the butterflies in his stomach- that had oh-so-conveniently disappeared. He let out a small murmur and leant into the movement, one hand rising up to cup the back of Jean’s head. “-can’t do that.”

Jean chuckled against his skin. “Aw, c’mon, I believe in you.”

“Sh-shut up, I need to get dressed…”

“I’m dressing you, aren’t I?” Jean pulled away to grab the sleek black competition jacket from the pile Marco had made on a hook usually used for leadropes. He brought it back and eased it onto Marco’s shoulders, kissing down his neck all the while, and Marco never thought anything could be as unfair as this in his entire life. He squirmed when Jean whispered a hushed compliment about how good he looked in the jacket, bit back a whine when Jean slithered his hands down lower and grasped his ass, and had to let out a strained moan when he nibbled on his lower lip. _Not fair, not fair, not fai- oh!_

“JEAN.”

“What?”

“Don’t touch… that.”

Jean laughed. “It looks like you need to give it some attention.”

“T-this isn’t relaxing me, Jean.” If anything, it was getting him more tense. He bit his lip as Jean fixed him with a small smile.

“Marco, I’m trying to help you here. It’ll make you feel better. Honest.”

Marco huffed. “Be that as it may, I’m not having you give me a quickie handjob in the back of a trailer, Jean.”

It was then that Jean’s smile spread into a predatory grin. “Who said anything about using my hands?”

Before Marco could blink, Jean was on his knees and grabbed for him. Marco’s hand flew to the back of Jean’s head and he let out a harsh gasp, feeling the side of the trailer bite into his shoulder blades as he fell back against it. His protests, he was ashamed to admit, died pretty quickly.

* * *

 

The Trost Academy course was one over the usual number. 9 obstacles. One combination of three jumps (Jacques had clearly thought of the Wall combination at the showground and incorporated something similar), a parallel, two oxers, two verticals and a water jump. When Marco and Jean had walked the course together, Jean smug as ever and Marco blushing like a fire engine, they noted that the combination had less of a distance between the jumps than the Bodt stables horses were used to. The jumps were around the same height as the showground ones, but were a lot more technical in approach, and it started to make Marco nervous. The chunkier horses like Pegasus and Magic would find it difficult to turn sharp enough. Jean mentioned that his father might have even done it on purpose, and Marco wouldn’t have put it past him. 

The line-up meant that Marco was near the end of the entrants, which wasn’t ideal; the ground would be churned by so many horses’ hooves that it wouldn’t be as springy and fresh as it could have been, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. One thing that was strange about the course was that there was only one round that day; a 'sudden death' round, Jacques had noted. The jump-off would happen the next day, between the few competitors who had managed to get through. He and Jean chose to sit in the front row of stands to watch the progress of the others first before they started their own rounds, Jean needing to jump with his fellow Trost Academy students. “It’ll be weird riding with them and not you,” he muttered, and Marco agreed with a soft sigh.

The group of over-16s joined them moments afterwards, Sasha nervously shoving chips into her mouth and force-feeding Connie extra whether he liked it or not, and Mikasa and Eren sat either side of each other like equally emotionless statues. It was how they showed their nerves- Marco had seen it hundreds of times before. They would be okay. Armin sat next to him and Jean, commenting on the state of the Trost Academy competitor’s nerves, and it was nice to hear that it wasn’t just them that were nervous.

There were a few competitors Marco didn't recognise that went first. There was the usual slip ups; not enough time spent turning, giving the wrong leg aid, the horse being inexperienced, all of these things sent poles toppling and penalties flying. Marco barely noticed. He was too busy trying to stop his leg from shaking. He realised that he wasn't as nervous as he thought he would be about riding. It came over him in waves, rushing over with such force he found it hard to breathe before they retreated back, lulling him into a false sense of security. But no matter what stupidity Jean had spilled, he did feel a little better. He blushed at the thought, and ran a hand through his hair as the announcer called out a familiar name. "Bertholdt?" he asked stupidly.

"Yeah. You didn't think he'd sit out a show jumping course, did you? He loves it!" Jean's eyes fell upon the lanky boy as he rode out the clearly excitable Brynja. He looked like he was close to fainting, but after hearing a wolf whistle and a "GO GET 'EM BABY" hollered from Reiner, he seemed to brighten up. Brynja was better than Marco expected; she jumped like she was born to it, and they finished with only a few faults. Reiner came next, thundering out on a large and rather heavily built dark bay the announcer named as 'Collosus'. He did slightly better than his boyfriend, steaming around the course and finishing with a good time and only one fault. Annie was nowhere to be seen; Marco presumed it was because she had been found out about the steroids, and disqualified. The announcer confirmed his suspicions. Good, he thought, sinking further into his seat, at least they wouldn't have to compete against a terrifying force of nature like her.

It was when the next competitor, a blonde called Thomas, came trotting out on his smart looking dun that Jean rose to his feet. "Right, it's me up in a few rider's time," he said, blowing a ball of air out of his chest with a shake of his hands. Marco frowned- he knew nerves when he saw them.

He smiled and got up too, bringing a hand to cup his cheek. "You'll do fine," he said, his thumb tracing circles on Jean's skin. "I believe in you. Go out there and kick their asses."

Jean gave him a modest, bashful smile in return. "Don't wanna kick their asses too much," he muttered, "or you losers won't have a chance."

"Go fuck yourself, Kirschtein!"

"Good luck to you too, Jaeger." He leant in and kissed Marco so forcefully it took his breath away, earning a 'gaaaaaay' from Connie, before he pulled away with a brightness to his eyes that hadn't been there before. "I'm not allowed to come back to the stands after I've done my round. So I'll be watching you from the sidelines, okay?" he said, pecking Marco on the lips again. "Will you cheer for me?"

"Stupid question," Marco replied, giving him a gentle shove. "Go on, get out there!"

Jean grinned, blew a kiss playfully to him, and left.

"Man, that guy is obsessed with you, Marco," Eren remarked. "You sure you're alright with such an obsessive freak as a boyfriend?"

Marco stuck his tongue out at him. "Shut up, Eren," he replied.

Armin laughed good-naturedly at him. "You're just jealous."

"Yeah, right," Eren grumbled, but there was a smile on his face.

The next two riders passed by in a blur, and then Jean was up. Marco could see him in the corner, trying to control an excitedly dancing Buchwald, and let out a shrill whistle just as the starting bell rang. Buchwald leapt away, and then they were starting.

Jean took Buchwald slowly, aware of how young the gelding was and therefore how delicate, and took the first jump, the vertical, with a grace that Marco recognised from training. He didn't move as fast as he had on Sina, and Marco presumed it was because he wasn't as used to Buchwald as he was to Sina, but it didn't seem to be affecting his time too badly. He swung Buchwald in a wide arc towards the first oxer, and gave the gelding his head as they reached the third stride before take off. Marco watched, nails digging into his palms, as Buchwald lengthened his stride in his eagerness and took the oxer sloppily, landing on the other side like a heap of potatoes. There was a collective wince from the crowd, but Jean seemed unfazed by it. "COME ON, JEAN!" Marco shouted in his seat, startled heads turning to look at him, and he swore to God that Buchwald's pace quickened.

The combination was in the middle of the course, a strange placement but nothing Jean couldn't handle, and when he began to level with it after jumping the parallel with no problems he tightened the reins. Marco could see him pray as Buchwald jumped the first part with a heavy snort, and scrambled to pick up his lost stride as he hit the second jump. Marco's stomach dropped. The third jump was salvaged purely due to Jean's riding ability, Buchwald flying over it with no time to change strides or collect himself. It was as though Jean had carried him over the jump himself. There was impressed applause from the audience. Marco's heart wasn't going anywhere; it stayed in his mouth, pounding like a jackhammer, as Jean turned him to the next oxer. Buchwald was tiring, Marco could see it by the way the gelding was trying to lower his head and pull ahead. He wanted to get it over and done with, and that was never a good sign. Jean collected him nevertheless, and they took the jump clean but without any poise. And then they were racing towards the water jump, Jean practically dropping the reins and letting Buchwald gallop towards it with thunderous strides. Marco counted the strides along with him. Four. Three. Two. One. Buchwald rose into the air...

And almost landed clear.

His back hocks were submerged in the water for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to warrant a penalty. Marco swore.

"That might be alright, though," he heard Sasha comment as Jean cleared the final upright with ease, "Buchwald did really well, for how young he is."

Jean's name was on the leaderboard for time, but the +4 penalty glared out at him. Marco felt an overwhelming surge of disappointment. Jean was meant to be the good one, the one they could rely on to do well even if he wasn't part of them, and he had the opportunity snatched away from him. He thought back to Jean's conversation on the phone, and felt a chill rush through him. What if he'd been on the phone to someone at the university? What if he had asked them to come to see him compete, and he hadn't done as well as he thought he would? It would crush him.

The chills didn't leave Marco throughout the rest of the Trost Academy entrants, and by the time it was the over-16s' turn he was buffeted along with them to where their horses were tied. A few nervous practice jumps in the arena next to the main ring and they were ready. Marco couldn't see anyone's rounds. Instead, he focused on tacking up Titan, trying to look more confident than he felt. Titan stood uncharacteristically still, the sounds and smells of the practice ground not bothering him at all, and only when Marco swung into the saddle did he begin to shift and shuffle, throwing up his head with a loud whinny as he circled him around the small practice arena. He tried to blot out the cheers of the crowd, the snorting of tired horses and the encouraging noises of the riders; instead, he just let Titan talk to him. He turned Titan towards the rather battered looking practice jump and nudged him into a controlled canter, knuckles white on the reins. Titan snapped his stride to the right distance, took one look at the jump, and sailed over it with a flick of his tail. The tail flick seemed to be a trademark of his now, Marco thought as he reined him back, giving him a short pat.

"Bodt."

He turned in the saddle to see Levi leaning against the paddock fence. He was unsmiling, as per usual. "Oh, h-hey Levi," Marco said, walking Titan over to him. "H-how are you?"

"Not bad." Levi's gaze flicked over Titan critically. He seemed to be satisfied, for he didn't say a word about the gelding's condition, and for Levi no news was good news. "Your boy on the grey just knocked down the entire combination. If that's talent, I don't know what is."

"Connie," Marco sighed. "He lives to destroy obstacles, it's true."

Levi huffed an assent. "The girl on the piebald. Mikasa. She went through clear, as did the pipsqueak who tried to ride Titan at the showgrounds. She got a better time, though."

"And Sasha?"

"The other piebald?" Levi's brow quirked. "She did alright, but finished with a fault. Her horse napped at the water."

Marco nodded. "Jester's not a fan of water."

Silence fell between them. Levi reached out to stroke Titan's powerful shoulder, his expression unreadable. Marco wanted to thank him, but he didn't think Levi was the type to accept thanks. He did it for the horses, not the riders, and a horse could thank him in an arena. That would mean more to him. Levi glanced up at him, and then he spoke. "You worry about the others. Do you worry about yourself?"

Marco paused. "W-well, yeah," he admitted, "but it's easier to worry about others."

"True." Levi went silent again. "Kirschtein. He had a bad day out there. It happens, sometimes. It won't change a thing, you know. He's still a great rider."

"I know that."

"Mmm."

_“Would Marco Bodt please make his way over to the starting point with his horse, please.”_

The announcer made Marco jump. Titan snorted, tossing his head as Marco gathered up the reins. "Relax," Levi said, patting Titan on the neck as they walked forwards. "It's going to be fine." He took an inch of Titan's reins and used it to lead him along, ignoring the angrily swishing tail and infuriated look Titan was giving him.

"What if I fall?" Marco muttered, more to himself than to Levi, but the trainer picked up on it. He huffed, keeping pace with the giant stride.

"Look, I don't usually say this, but... you're a good rider, Bodt. And Titan is a good horse. You make a good team, and it'll show in the ring. Just let him guide you sometimes- he'll tell you what you need to know." And then they were at the gate. He released them. "Make your boyfriend proud," he said, stepping away from them as the gate opened. "And, brat?"

Marco turned. "Y-yes?"

Levi then did something that was rare, rarer than anything else Marco had seen in the strange summer he'd been a part of. He smiled. Genuinely. "Good luck, Marco."

Something hit Marco square in the chest. Levi had never called him Marco. All he could do was smile as Titan pulled against his hands angrily.

And then he was walking out into the ring.

The noise was louder than he'd ever expected, though he was pretty sure it was because half of it was his mother refusing to be silenced by the announcer. He gulped, and tightened his reins. Titan was prancing beneath him, the sight of the jumps and the people beginning to get to him, and Marco scratched his wither in an attempt to soothe him.

"And this is a gigantic horse! He must be at least, what, 16 hands and counting? What a giant. This is Titan's Revenge, known in his barn as Titan, and is being ridden by the highly talented (we are told) Marco Bodt!" the announcer was saying. Marco bit back a smile as he tried to keep Titan in check, keeping his reins tight and his voice soothing despite how much it was shaking. He had to wait for the bell. Wait for the bell.

The bell rang out like a call.

He gave Titan his head.

And Titan launched himself off his hind legs, a loud squeal of high spirits ripping out of him.

Marco managed to keep him at a relatively collected canter, despite how much he could feel the giant body fighting against him, and kept talking to him all the while, soothing him, reassuring him. And then he saw the first jump appear in his eyeline. His eyes narrowed. "Come on, Titan," he said, "let's show them." Titan let out a nicker of agreement, and began to focus. He felt different. His muscles re-aligned. His ears pricked forwards. All of a sudden, he was supple under Marco's hands, his attention lost completely on the looming obstacle, and Marco let out a breath. He began to count the strides to the jump. One, two, three... Titan jumped it cleanly, landing before Marco expected, and began to turn towards the oxer, his breath coming out in steady, snorting gaps.

Marco remembered what Jean had said about the distances being deceiving, and made sure to turn Titan in a wide arc rather like Jean had done with Buchwald. But Titan was storming, his hooves rolling in sharp, snappy strides, and when they reached the oxer he took it like it was nothing but a fallen log, springing away to the next one with an eagerness that Marco recognised. He remembered the showgrounds, before the accident, when Titan had concentrated, had kicked out his excess energy and thrown himself into his jumping, heart and soul. That was how he was feeling now, lengthening his stride and making up for lost time in the distance between the jumps as he took the parallel in his stride, landing like a cat on the other side. He vaguely heard the encouraging shouts of the over-16s but it seemed to just wash over him. He had to pay attention. Had to get him angled just right. Needed to do this.

The combination was next. Titan hadn't reached the combination the last time. Marco brought the gelding back to a choppy, short canter as they neared the first jump. There were three or so strides between each jump, Marco had calculated, and so that was what he had to keep Titan to. What he forgot, as they rushed upon the first jump, was that Titan had a mind of his own. The gelding all but skidded to a stop, rocked back onto his hind legs, and launched himself over, causing Marco to grab for his neck to avoid falling off. In the process of doing so, however, he lost his stirrups. Blind panic flashed through him as Titan landed, but he didn't have chance to get them back. He'd let his reins loose. Titan had his head. And he was lengthening stride. He allowed a stride between the first jump and the second, leaping it as though it was a cross pole, before doing exactly the same with the third jump. Marco heard the gasp of the crowd, the whistles of admiration, the cheering as Titan got clear, and then he was straightening up, grabbing for the reins and kicking feebly around for his stirrups as he turned Titan towards the second oxer. He got one stirrup the moment of take off, and was grateful for it, for Titan stumbled on the landing.

He managed to get the other as Titan lengthened his stride on the long run towards the water jump, and his pulse began to roar as they neared it. He hadn’t practiced water jumps. It required a jump of length, not of height, and he knew he would have to keep the strides even. If he let Titan run away with him, he wouldn’t jump the last upright with enough momentum. He felt Titan pull against his reins as he nudged him faster towards the water jump. Titan let out a strangled whinny as they got closer, and Marco bit his lip. Titan was trying to tell him something. He was asking for more rein, he could tell. He gulped, and muttered a small, “I hope I know what you’re doing,” as he slipped more through his fingers. The reaction was electric. Titan lunged forwards, swallowing up the ground with every huffing breath, and Marco kept his eyes fixed on the jump that was getting closer and closer. He breathed. He tightened his grip on what rein he had. He kept his legs firmly on Titan’s sides. He willed the gelding over. And then, they were leaving the ground. Titan stretched out like he was a dog waking from its slumber, and they landed on the other side with inches to spare. Marco’s breath seemed to be shocked back into his lungs as they headed towards the last jump, the vertical. He pulled back on the reins. “C’mon, Titan, steady it down,” he muttered. But the gelding refused. He pulled right back, his canter turning into a gallop as he bore down on the final jump. “Titan, steady!” Marco said in a panic, hauling back on the reins, but Titan just put his head down and yanked the reins out of his hands. Marco fumbled for them, but then the jump was upon them. He curled into Titan’s neck, gripping onto his mane tightly as the gelding took the jump at a furious pace. All he could see was the black mane whipping his face, the whistle of wind past his ears, and the stunned silence of the crowd. Had they always been that quiet?

And then they were landing in a muddle of limbs and reins, Titan arching his neck to avoid stepping on them. Marco managed to grab them as they skirted the edge of the course at a fast canter before he even thought of pulling Titan up. When he did, he turned in the saddle to check the last jump. It was up. He’d jumped clear.

A flash of relief bolted through him, and he couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face.

But… why wasn’t anyone cheering?

He looked around, and they were all deathly silent. They weren’t moving. They weren’t pointing. They weren’t doing anything. It was like the entire population of the stands had been turned to stone. The worms of worry began to squirm in Marco’s stomach. Had he done something wrong? He searched for a face in the crowd, for anyone who could offer an explanation. His eyes eventually landed on the edge of the ring. Jean. He was staring blankly at him, an expression of utter shock on his face, and Marco nudged Titan towards him worriedly. “J-Jean?” he asked. “Jean, what is it, is something wrong?”

Jean’s cheeks were flushed. His look of shock tilted up until it was a smile. A big one. “Look,” he said, pointing to the score board. Marco looked. And his jaw promptly dropped open.

He and Titan hadn’t just made it home under the time stated.

They had got home in a time that seemed almost impossible.

“Wh-wha-?”

Then the clapping began. It started off tentative, as though the person couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing, but then it was taken up by the others, and more, and more, until the crowd was roaring. And Marco stood in the midst of it, dumbstruck. Before he was capable of stringing together a sentence, he got bombarded.

Every single person from the Bodt stables; the over-16s, Hannes, Hanji, all of them ducked under the fencing and swarmed around him and Titan, giving the gelding furious pats and praise and cheering like animals. Marco blushed atop his place on Titan, but then he caught Jean’s eye again. The other boy had ducked under the fence a little more calmly, a warm smile on his face as he stood by and let the others congratulate him. But he was proud. He was so proud. And that made Marco’s heart feel like it had burst out of his chest.

He wasn’t ready for Eleanor Bodt. His mother flew in from nowhere, a shrill scream coming from her mouth as she practically dragged him off Titan’s back and accosted him with kisses, her arms threatening to constrict him in her tight grip. “You precious, precious boy!” she cried, showering him with still more kisses as he tried to wriggle free. “There’s no point in them even doing a jump off because you smashed all the times!! Oh you amazing, incredible, wonderful-”

“Mum, I can’t breathe.”

“You can breathe later! Oh I am so, _SO_ proud of you!”

“Mum, seriously, I can’t breathe.”

The crowd wasn’t clapping politely now- they were roaring. And Marco couldn’t quite believe that they were roaring for him the boy who was still being crushed in his mother’s arms. But they were. And something inside him was roaring with them.

The moment he was released by his mother, his eyes sought out Jean. Was he still stood back, watching from afar? But then he saw the group surrounding him part. And there he was.

They stood apart for a moment, grins so identical a mirror could have been held up between them. And then they started running. They collided, arms everywhere as Jean spun around with the sheer force of it. He was laughing, and soon Marco found it to be infectious. They were spinning laughing, clutching, in a kaleidoscopic world of colours, and it was only when they slowed down that Marco realised he was crying.

Jean noticed too. “Marco?” he questioned.

Marco just shook his head and pulled Jean in tight, his tears dripping onto Jean’s collar. Marco didn’t care. He nuzzled into the crook of Jean’s neck, his emotion threatening to overwhelm him as he whispered into the skin, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Marco tightened his grip on him. “For fixing me.”

“I didn’t fix you,” Jean murmured into his ear. “There was nothing broken to begin with.”

Marco gave a watery laugh. “See? You can be sappy in public.”

“Only under enormous pressure.”

“If I could interrupt this tender moment.”

They both pulled away, embarrassed, just in time to see two individuals nudging their way through the crowd. Marco recognised the sneer on the female’s face. Rico Brzenska was walking towards them. His stomach dropped. _Was she here for Jean? Was he going to have to hear about how Jean had the right sort of thing for the university?_ Rico was followed by a man who dwarfed her, his lazy expression following the proceedings under a mop of straw-like hair. He seemed more interested in Titan, a single step taking him from Rico’s side to Titan. The gelding and he stared each other down, contesting for dominance, but the man said nothing. Before Marco could question him Rico cleared her throat. “So, Marco. We meet again.”

Marco gave a tight nod. “H-hello.”

“You know Rico?” Jean asked, looking between the two with the confusion clear in his eyes.

“I helped her groom some horses when you took the exam,” Marco explained, giving her a suspicious glance, “we were talking.”

“Well, it seems it wasn’t just me who thought you should be in the exam hall with your boyfriend,” Rico said, casting Jean a rather critical glance. “He’s lucky that his gamble paid off, or else I would be fining him for wasting mine and Mike’s time.” Marco followed her gaze and frowned. His stomach was churning now more than it had been when he was awaiting his turn on the course. Nothing was making sense. Jean had taken a gamble? What was going on? Rico’s arms folded. “Well?” she prompted Jean. “Do you want to tell him or should I?”

“Wha-?” Marco’s frown doubled in intensity.

Jean looked sheepish. “I, uh, well I kind of guessed that you wanted to go to the uni. And I just… well I didn’t. Not so much. But I went to the entrance exam because I thought it would make you happy, but… it didn’t, and don’t deny it. You’re a shit liar.” He grinned weakly.

“I still don’t understand,” Marco said, though his stomach was telling him otherwise. “What’s going on?”

“He wrote your name on the entrance exam paper,” Rico answered. “And on the scholarship forms. On everything, actually. It was only when we chased things up that we realised something wasn’t quite right.”

Marco felt everything stop. Jean had written _his_ name on the exam. He had passed the exam in Marco’s name. He looked wildly at Jean. “How did you- when did you- why?” he demanded. “Why would you do that?”

Jean looked wretchedly back. “Because I thought you deserved it way more than I did. And it was stupid… and reckless…”

“And cost our admissions department more than we could afford!” Rico snapped.

Jean shrank away from the woman’s sharpness. “I know, I know, I’m sorry! But you had to understand, I had to get your attention somehow.”

Then it dawned on Marco. “The telephone call I walked in on… you were talking to Rico,” he said faintly.

Jean nodded. “Yeah.”

“I thought you were talking about yourself, that your application had got messed up somehow…” Marco’s eyes widened. ‘ _There’s a showjumping competition at Trost Academy this Saturday. Come and find me there, and I’ll show you.’_ He hadn’t invited Rico to the competition to see how well he performed. He’d invited her to see Marco, to show how good he was. He hadn’t done anything for himself. It was all for Marco.

His heart was hammering against his ribs, his stomach leaping like a fish. Jean had done that… for him?

Jean was still grinning, though it was stretched thin under the strain of Marco’s incredulous gaze, and the longer Marco stared the weaker it became. “I knew you’d be good,” he said, “I just needed Ms Brzenska to see that.”

“And I have to admit,” Rico cut in, “he was right. You rode pretty damn well out there. A little unorthodox at times, I’ll admit, especially when you lost your stirrups and then your reins. But the way your horse hit that water jump just right… you two have a good and trusting bond. You should be proud of yourself, Marco, for that if not the incredible time you finished in. You rushed it, but it paid off. Your horse is quite the athlete. And you ride exceptionally well for someone who has only just recovered from the mental trauma of an accident that, if I’m honest, would have put me off getting back in the saddle. And trust me, that’s saying something. You and your horse both are professionals, Marco, and we want to train you so you can compete in the high end competitions you deserve to be a part of.”

“He’s a half-blood.”

All eyes turned to the huge man stood beside Titan. He was scratching the gelding behind the ears, and his lazy gaze was a little more alert. “He’s got feral blood, and he’s lived feral for a time too, Rico. You can tell by the way he runs, the way he jumps. He’s got initiative. Skill. He knows when to jump and when to slacken his pace. He could have rode around that course on his own and he would have finished clear. He has a brain, unlike some of the meat wagons around here.”

“So do we have your approval?” Rico asked. “Mike’s our lecturer on Equine Psychology and Physiology. He knows his apples.”

Mike took one further glance at Titan, and then nodded.

“Well, that settles it then.” Rico turned back to Marco and offered him a beaming smile. “Marco, we’d like to formally offer you a place at the Pixis University of Equitation. Should you choose to accept it, and you better after all the trouble people have gone through. Now I have a few things here I need you to sign…”

Marco couldn’t believe it was happening. He was expecting someone to knock him on the head so hard he would wake up and blink away the remains of a very strange, very cruel dream. But the vision didn’t go, and Rico was still there handing him some papers from a bag slung over her shoulder. He began to feel the beginnings of excitement, until reality came crashing down on him.

“But… but Jean, what about you? Mum, the stables… everything?” he gabbled, looking from one eager face to the next.

“What about them?” Jean shrugged, smiling. “I want to teach, Marco. I told you. I want to teach kids and train horses, and I can do that at the stables. I can move in there permanently, help your mum out, move Buchwald and Sina in and let them earn their keep. We could even get Armin working there too, if he feels up to it. Think about it, Marco. I can do what I want to do, and you can do what you want to do. Just this once, everyone’s okay. Everyone’s going to win.”

Marco bit his lip. “We’re still gonna… we’re still gonna be apart, though.” His stomach somersaulted at the thought.

Jean took a step closer. He took Marco’s hand. He grinned. “Honestly, Freckles,” he tutted, “do you honestly think you are ever getting rid of me? I’ll be visiting you so much you’ll be begging to have some privacy.”

Marco smiled hopefully at him. “B-because you love me?”

Jean chuckled. “Marco. I fucking adore you.”

And then Marco was being pulled into a hug from all sides; from his mother, from Jean, from Hannes, from everyone as they jumped and screamed and applauded and cheered.

And in that moment, in that fleeting, ‘just once’ moment, as he heard Titan whinnying for attention in the distance and felt Jean kiss him fiercely on the lips, Marco Bodt felt like the competitive type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be an epilogue <3


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. I have to admit, I got a little emotional finishing this off. 
> 
> I just want to thank everyone who read this fic, supported it and gave me such amazing, lovely comments. It really helped me along, and made me finish this quicker than I thought was possible :) I'm so glad that you all love my stupid horse nerds as much as I do, and it's weird to say goodbye to them. I hope this helps, though!
> 
> A few people have asked me if I've written anything else, and even though I have a oneshot up here and a few little ones on Tumblr I am going to be working on some more fics in the very near future (I'm plotting a new one as we speak) and the list of whatever I have in my mind to start working on is here: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/post/93317109079/for-the-curious-and-to-organise-my-brain-a-little
> 
> As always, you can find me on my tumblr: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/
> 
> And... well this is it. I hope you like the last of this. <3 
> 
> p.s. Rachel if you ever see this you owe me money- told you I could write a chapter a week consistently. Boom.

**_Three Years Later._ **

 

In the large whitewashed room, its floor mainly covered by clothes or random pieces of tack, the young man was hunched over his laptop muttering angrily to himself. It wasn’t working. Again. Granted, he’d left it out in the sun and overheated it the day before when he was studying, but it was an old model. It was ready to be buried in the laptop graveyard in the very close future. He gave the screen an experimental smack, cursing under his breath. He couldn’t be late.

Marco had grown taller since he had arrived as a nervous Fresher at the Pixis University, and he decided it suited him. The constant work-outs with the horses had also lost what little puppy fat he’d had left at eighteen, and now at twenty one there wasn’t an inch of flesh that wasn’t wiry muscle. Something that hadn’t changed was his messy hair; today it was stubbornly stuck up on end, refusing any teasing with a comb or brush, and Marco had let it do its worst. Having it stuck under a hat for at least four hours a day would do that to it.

He hit the touchpad. “C’mon you stupid thing,” he hissed. And as if by magic, it whirred into tired life. Marco let out a sigh of relief. “Finally!”

A head popped around his door a second later. “Hey Marco!” the girl beamed, her dark hair cutting across her cheek as she dangled herself into his room, “Whatcha doing?”

Marco laughed. “Nothing much, Mina. Just trying to get my laptop working.”

“Skyping Jean again, huh?” When Marco nodded, Mina smiled and bounced into his room, flinging herself at his bed. Marco winced at the way it creaked in warning. “You Skyped him _last_ week.”

“I’d be Skyping him more if he wasn’t so busy, and you know I would, so stop teasing,” Marco replied, tapping in his password before turning to face her instead of watching it boot up. Mina had set up camp on his bed, led flat out with her feet in the air like a lovestruck teenager grinning at him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in response.

He and Mina had got on like a house on fire since the first day they met. Her bright, bubbly personality had slowly but surely drawn him out of his shell, and reminded him ever so slightly of the boy he’d left behind. Mina could be funny, sharp-tongued and a bit dorky at times… but she could never out- dork Jean. It was even better that her little rose grey mare, Celeste, took a shine to Titan, and the pair could be frequently seen grazing side by side in the rich paddocks if they weren’t trotting alongside each other on the occasional hack. “You two are so cute,” Mina said, her grin only widening when Marco blushed.

“Stop it! We’re not cute…”

“Yeah, you are. You’ve been going out ever since you got here, and you’re going strong. It takes a lot to make long distance work, trust me, I know.” Mina rolled onto her back and stared up at his ceiling. She reminded him of a cat vying for attention. “Samuel’s not even tried asking me out yet.”

“Aw, what, really?” Marco smiled. “Maybe you should ask him. Put the ball in his corner.”

“Mm, maybe. How did you ask Jeanny boy out?”

Marco thought back, remembering the way he’d flung himself at Jean and then promptly run away. He laughed. “It’s complicated… I don’t even know if I can figure out who asked out who…” Before he had too much time to think, something bleeped on his laptop. He spun around on his chair to see his Skype automatically popping open.

**_Jean_Kirschtein is online._ **

“No awful pun this time? Must’ve been talking to Bastien,” Marco mumbled to himself, typing in a quick, ‘ **< 3’ **into the message box. He heard Mina shift behind him as he hit the ‘video call’ button and listened for the dial tone. It was picked up almost immediately.

And then he was there on the screen; shadows under his eyes, one hand raking its way through his slightly longer hair, but he was there. The same amber-fire eyes. The same small grin. The same warmth. _Jean._ “Hey baby,” he murmured, scooting a little closer to the screen. “How’re you?”

Marco smiled. “Better than you, you look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You do, though! What’s happened?” Marco’s smile dropped as the thoughts suddenly hit him at a hundred miles an hour. “Is mum alright? Are the horses? Are _you_ okay?”

“Marco, Marco, calm down.” Jean yawned. “Sina dropped her foal last night. I was up all night making sure she was okay.”

“Oh my God, the foal, yes!” Marco felt his worries vanish in a second. It had taken him a long time to be able to do that. “I forgot she was due so soon! What is it? What colour? Is it wobbly? You should have called me, Jean!”

Jean laughed, though Marco could sense the tiredness in it. “You would’ve killed me, it happened at about four this morning. The vet who I called out nearly throttled me.” His voice got warmer as he said, “It’s a little colt. Bay, with a big star just like Sina’s. He stood up in minutes, man, you should have seen him Marco. He’s the smallest little thing. Tiniest little hooves…”

Marco couldn’t stop grinning. Jean was like a proud parent, rambling on about how Sina was nursing her baby okay and he wanted to get him a little foal blanket because the weather was getting worse… a far cry to how angry he had been when he made the connection between a stallion from a neighbouring farm breaking out and Sina getting rounder. He really _was_ like a protective father, Marco mused. “What have you called him?” He asked.

Jean let out another yawn. “Haven’t totally thought it through, but I’m liking Littlefoot.”

Marco snorted. “Jean, you can’t call a horse Littlefoot.”

“But he has _tiny feet_ Marco. Tiny feet.”

“But-”

“ _Tinyyy feeeett.”_

“You’re getting sappy.”

“And you’re missing me.” Jean’s smile, if it were possible, grew softer. “I miss you,” he added.

Marco heard the distinct sound of gagging behind him and he swivelled around in his chair to glare at Mina. “I didn’t ask you to listen in, you know!” he said.

“Someone else there?”

Marco swivelled back. “Only Mina,” he replied.

“Yeah, that’s right, only Mina!” she called out from the background. “The only woman your man will ever have on his bed!”

Jean chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Hey, Mina. Still trying to seduce my boy?”

Marco rolled his eyes. Jean and Mina knew each other well; after all, his best friend at the university had to get on with his boyfriend or else something was wrong. Jean took a while to warm to her, assuming that she was trying to sidle up to Marco for all but innocent reasons, but soon realised he had absolutely nothing to worry about. Now, his presumptions about her trying to get into Marco’s pants was nothing but a running joke, and Marco was surprisingly fine with it.

“Well what can I say, gay guys just do it for me,” Mina teased, “and Marco’s getting more and more handsome the older he gets.”

Jean grinned. “Don’t I know it, sexy ass motherfucker.”

“Guys, shut up!” Marco whined, but he was grinning back at Jean.

They were joined by yet another person (Marco’s room was never considered private unless Jean was staying) who practically leapt into the room and declared, “Which one of you hoes wants to come practice with me?” Her mousey hair bounced enthusiastically on her shoulders, and her heavily lidded expression swept from first Mina, then Marco with a sparkle of promise.

Marco didn’t even have to look at Jean on the screen to see his boyfriend’s face sour. “Sorry Hitch, I’m talking to Jean at the moment,” he said, “maybe some other time?”

At the mention of Jean, Hitch stiffened. She took another cautious step into the room and peered at the screen. “Oh. Hey.”

“’Lo.” Jean didn’t even dignify her with a double syllable greeting. “Marco and I are busy.”

Hitch’s eyebrow rose, but she said nothing. “Mina, you wanna come if cutie’s too busy talking to scary dude over there?”

Mina said, “Sure,” and Jean snapped, “Don’t call him cutie!” all at once. Marco sighed. Oh, the quiet life, how he missed it. At least Hitch's interruption killed two birds with one stone; both she and Mina left quickly enough, with Mina waving a frantic goodbye to Jean before she slipped out of the frame and Hitch wisely keeping her distance. Once they were finally alone, Jean let out a sigh.

"God, I hate that girl."

"Yeah, and don't I know it." Marco reclined back on his chair and grinned. "Do you make friends wherever you go, or are you just talented?"

Jean seemed to know who he was thinking of, because he leaned closer and gave him an offended grunt. "Shut the fuck up, Eren and I have been getting on well, I'll have you know."

"Not too well, I hope. Armin thinks that you’re the type who can only ever want to kill each other or shag the life out of each other," Marco said.

Jean snorted. "Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I won't be touching Jaeger with a foot-long pole- except to ram it up his ass."

Marco laughed. "Like that didn’t sound gay.”

“Shut up.”

“Such elegant banter."

"You knew what you let yourself in for when you kissed my face off." Jean chuckled. "But seriously, how is that bitch not out of the university yet?"

Marco rolled his eyes. "Her ways of being friendly are a little... strange, granted, but Hitch isn't all that bad once you get to know her."

"Fuck that." Jean looked more alert now, as though the longer he had been speaking to Marco the more life had been breathed back into him. Marco had noticed it more and more during their Skype sessions, and even when they met up for the occasional weekend or two Jean would only turn back into himself after being in Marco's company for a little while. It was like Marco took a piece of Jean away with him, and when he came back...

Well, that was beyond sappy.

Marco's mood snapped when Jean muttered, "she's not still flirting with you, is she?"

Marco tried not to laugh, but it bubbled up his throat a little too quickly and he ended up choking on it. Amid Jean's swears of concern, Marco waved a hand away and replied, "She stopped flirting with me a while ago, Jean. I think you saw to that."

Jean paused. He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Marco recovered from his choking laughter and let out a snort of derision. "Come on, don't pretend you don't remember. Seriously Jean, nobody even knew I was gay before the... incident."

Jean was genuinely confused, head cocked to one side like a dog, and Marco felt another scoff worm its way to the surface. "I thought you told everyone outright."

"Well, I did, but only those who cared enough to listen," Marco muttered, folding his arms. "And Hitch, well... she didn't quite take no for an answer, it's true, but do you really feel threatened by someone like her?"

Jean sniffed. "Jaeger said she looks like me. Similar."

Marco snorted. “No, she doesn’t.”

Jean didn’t look convinced.

This still happened. Jean hadn't quite gotten over what had been drummed into him for years; that he didn't matter. That he was nothing special. Marco didn't care; his own anxieties still played havoc with his social life, and the stomach churning would never fully go away. But things were easier now. Marco knew what to say to make things better for Jean, and Jean knew how to draw Marco out of his shell. They knew each other so much better now. Things could be settled and calmed. They were there for each other.

Marco smiled, and shuffled closer to the screen. "Jean. I love you. I know it's hard for you to get your head around sometimes, but I want you. I don't want anyone else." He leaned back and let out a short huff. "It still doesn't excuse you." When Jean remained blank, Marco sighed. “The common room incident?”

Ah, there it was. A look of fond reminisce fell over Jean’s face. “Oh, yeah. The common room incident.” He sighed happily. “Memories.”

“No, _not_ ‘memories’. Everyone lives in fear of you coming to visit now,” Marco muttered.

Jean let out a huff and waved a hand around dismissively. “Aw, it wasn’t that bad…”

“Jean, you know it was that bad. Nobody made eye contact with me for a week afterwards.”

“They were just jealous?”

“Yeah, uh huh. They call me Seabiscuit now.”

Jean spluttered into laughter. "No shit, really?"

"Yes!" As Jean burst into fits of laughter, rocking back and forth on his chair, Marco muttered under his breath, "I guess it beats 'Freckles'..."

"Seabiscuit, oh my God," Jean snorted, "Armin will lose his shit after hearing that!"

"Jean, don't tell Armin."

"Too late. I'm texting him."

"I'm breaking up with you."

"Nuh uh uh, _Seabiscuit_ , I'd like to see you try."

Marco blushed madly and tried to ignore the sound of his shame being tapped out in Jean's text to Armin. He found it difficult. "Anyway, since then Hitch has been remarkably... awkward around me. I think I managed to scare even her."

"Really? You were the one who suggested it, you horny little racehorse," Jean said, eyes still on his phone as he texted. “Besides, I thought she'd be the type for public displays of affection.”

"I think 'affection' is a bit too weak a word for what she saw, Jean. In fact, what most of my dorm saw."

"Eh," was Jean's eloquent reply. He sent the message with a titter before turning his attention back to Marco. "So, what's new? Aside from, y’know, being named after a racehorse now. At least they agree with me about the horsiness of your... nature."

" ** _Jean_**."

"Having a good day?"

Marco rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. He smiled. "Uh huh." Honestly? He was having a good day every day. He woke up every morning eager for the classes, the lecturers, the long hours of riding in store. He would flop into his bed after another day full of riding and training and brain-stretching, and feel like he was ready to start all over again the next day. Marco was happy, happier than he had been for a long while. The only thing that dampened his mood was Jean's absence, and he was sure that Jean knew that. “I’ve got training a little later, but we have some time.”

“That’s good. How’s Titan?”

Marco grinned. “He looks… good. He looks really good, Jean. I’ll have to send you some photos at some point, his muscle’s all built up and he listens to me a lot more- he’s so different.  And when we were practicing over the cross country course, Rico said we’re looking like we could maybe apply for some intermediate circuits this summer. She signed us up for a few tryouts with teams but I don’t know how we’ll do…”

Jean was grinning brightly, almost as excited as Marco was. “That’s great, Marco! You should go for it!”

Marco sputtered at that. He hadn’t expected Jean to welcome the idea very warmly; he already made little comments about wanting him back at the stables. His mother, however, wasn’t as desperate for people to help nowadays; along with Jean and Armin working at the yard teaching and looking after the horses, Hannes had finally mustered up the courage to propose to her, and Eleanor couldn’t have felt more settled. She was okay. It was Jean that Marco worried about. If he was accepted at a tryout… “R-Really, you think?” he asked.

“Definitely!” Jean’s voice crackled over the poor connection, and the picture was lost for a moment before it blinked back. He was still grinning. “Marco, you’re brilliant. Go to the try-outs and blow the others out of the water! I know you can do that easy. You could take them.”

Marco smiled again, the nerves that fluttered in his stomach caged for the moment. “I wish you could come with me,” he said softly.

Jean smiled too. “I know,” he said, “but you have to do some things on your own. Sometimes… I can’t follow you. Even though I fucking want to. But…” he shrugged, “you just have to remember that I’m gonna be there for you to come back to. When you come home, there I’ll be.”

Marco bit his lip, the hit of emotion suddenly bringing tears to his eyes. He blinked them away, but they just kept coming until they threatened to spill out onto his cheeks. He tried to rub them away with the back of his hand as nonchalantly as he could, but Jean noticed. He always did. Marco cried a lot when they Skyped; Jean was used to it. “Heyy now, don’t cry,” he murmured, frowning as his face grew closer. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Just… miss you…” Marco mumbled, swiping at his tears a little more violently now, pretence forgotten. “You’re just… you’re so good to me, and you… you’d wait…”

“Of course I’d wait, baby, I love you.” Jean smiled, though Marco could see that he was getting teary too. “Don’t be sad about that. Just think of what’ll happen when we are back together, yeah?”

Marco nodded, a strange pull appearing at the back of his eyelids. He wanted to cry so much more than he had, but he wouldn’t- at least, not until Jean was gone. “Y-yeah,” he agreed weakly. “I think Titan misses his tree.”

“Sina misses her bodyguard,” Jean added. “And Titan needs to see his adoptive son.”

Marco chuckled weakly at that. “Are you coming up again soon?” he asked, his voice lilting with hope at the end of his question as he still fended off the waterworks.

“Well, lessons are getting pretty hectic and my beginner’s class is starting their first Dressage tests soon…” Jean scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. But then he saw the way Marco’s face faltered, and he immediately added, “I can’t come on a weekend, but how about this Wednesday? I can stay over.” When Marco nodded fervently at this suggestion, Jean’s smile returned. “And I won’t let you leave the bed all day.”

Marco flushed at the thought. _God, he was so frustrated lately. Horny loser._ “J-Jean, I’ll have lectures… and training…”

“You’ll be sick.” Jean folded his arms on the table and shrugged his shoulders with a brighter smile than before. “Conveniently enough. And I’ll just _have_ to stay and nurse you.”

Marco chuckled. “I like your thinking.”

“Yup. So don’t cry, baby.” Jean had that look on his face that was a mix of tender and annoyed, and it looked as though he wanted to reach out and touch the screen. “Because I’ll be there soon to wipe that all away, okay?”

Marco ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up even more in an attempt to take his mind off of the emotion that wanted to break through the cracks in his walls, but he smiled. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

Jean smiled. “I know. I love you too… _Seabiscuit._ ”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jean’s laughter filled his room, and Marco Bodt felt rested. At home.

* * *

 

**_Five years later._ **

 

The horses and riders had been walking around the practice area for what seemed like hours, their mounts snorting and blowing and bucking in their excitement for the off. The course had been walked twice, the grass springy underfoot and weather holding out for the moment. The obstacles were tricky, the heights a staggering five feet and higher, but doable. The double and the water jump were the two people seemed the most nervous about, but as the rider in the centre of the throng turned his gigantic horse around in a tight circle, talking to him all the while, the water jump was the least of his worries.

Everyone remembered what had happened back in Trost.

Everyone knew the way his horse just seemed to _know_ what to do.

Titan was twelve years old, a prime age for competing, and as he fought for his head and flicked his tail irritably, the man astride him knew that he was ready. They had taken their course already, and jumped clear- now was the jump-off, the round that was based on time alone and determined the winner of the competition. And, as Titan practically fizzed under him, Marco Bodt felt nervous.

“I know you want to gallop, but you have to take it slow, big guy,” he muttered, giving the arched neck a swift pat. “We have to take the corners sharp, and we can’t do that when you’re charging off like a war horse.” Titan shifted under his hand with a snort, and allowed Marco to nudge him into a steady trot past the other competitors and into a space of his own. A number of them called out to him, others waved, and he returned their greetings in kind, smiling more to himself than to anyone in particular. He wasn’t difficult to spot; not only did his horse tend to tower over the others, but everyone knew him by now. He was the man who suddenly shot to fame after annihilating a well-known showjumping veteran at a tournament- and he was the one who went over and apologised. Marco Bodt was fast becoming a household name in the showjumping world, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that fact.

He closed his eyes, trying to still his breathing as he felt the wind pick up around them. Titan was still, barely a muscle twitching as he seemed to embrace the calm too, and Marco smiled as he opened his eyes to look down at the arched neck, the pricked ears, the gently swaying mane in the breeze. They were both at their height, he realised, and they were up against champions. If he wanted to keep up his streak and remain noticed, he had to do well, if not win. He let out a sigh. His stomach was still squirming, harking back to another time, and he bit his lip against it. He hadn’t had chance to look into the crowd. Had he been there? Had he got the notice in time?

“Hey, hey, look! Over here!”

Marco blinked and turned towards the source of the voice, and saw a small group of children push their way through the crowd towards the competitors’ practice ring. There were various ages, but all had bright eyes and beaming faces. His chest lightened- and promptly spiked as he saw who he was looking for. Jean was walking behind them, shooing them forward gently, with a little girl balanced precariously on his shoulders. His undercut was darkening now, the mousey giving way to the darker colour beneath as he neared him. He was stubbly too- probably didn’t have enough time to shave, the dork- but Marco didn’t care about that. He was there. He was really there. He beamed, and suddenly he could do anything. “Now, what did I tell you all about coming back here?” Jean asked his assembled students.

“Respect the horses,” one piped up.

“Don’t run off,” said another.

“And don’t steal people’s food!” said the little girl on Jean’s shoulders.

Jean looked up at her. “That’s just a rule for you, Sammy.”

“Aw, meanie.”

“You’re your mother’s daughter, alright,” Jean muttered, depositing her gently on the ground before him. Only when he straightened up did he meet Marco’s eye. And then he seemed to relax. All the tension seemed to disappear from his frame and vanish into the air, and suddenly he was the excitable eighteen year old again. Marco’s heart seemed to swell at the thought.

He smiled warmly and turned Titan towards them. “Hey there, kids. How are you?” he asked.

They all stared up at him with large, awestruck eyes. “Y-you were so good in the jumping Mr. Bodt,” one of the boys squeaked.

“Really good,” another agreed.

“So good.”

“I wanna jump like you!”

“Titan is huuuge!”

Marco laughed. “Kids, kids, one at a time!” He glanced back to Jean and saw that he was smiling so tenderly it made his chest flutter. “Hey,” he said, nudging Titan a little closer, “I’m glad you could come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jean said, leaning on the fence to tickle Titan’s nose like he always did. “Would we kids?”

“Nope!” Sammy said, darting closer to Jean to take a closer look at Titan. “Oooh he has big hooves…”

“Sammy, stay back,” Jean warned. “I promised your mother I’d take care of you and you have your father’s bad luck, so she’d kill me if you come back with so much as a hair out of place.”

As Sammy sulked, Marco chuckled. “How are the happy couple, anyway?”

Jean nodded. “They’re fine. Connie finally managed to find a house that isn’t going to blow away in a mild breeze, and Sasha’s pregnant again so there’s gonna be another little sprog soon. Happy days.” He paused. “You did say this is the last competition of the season, right?”

“Right! And then I’ll be back home with you and Mum and everyone else!” Marco beamed. He’d been looking forward to it more than Jean would ever know. He liked the fun of moving places, training in weird and wonderful countries he’d never have stepped foot in otherwise, and competing there was even more exciting… but the circuit had been hard on him and Titan. They both needed a rest, and time to unwind from the stress that competing thrust upon them. They needed to come home.  

It was then that Marco noticed something. Jean was still tense. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, casting looks this way and that as though mortified someone was going to catch him out from whatever he was doing. He even looked a little _paler_ than normal. Marco frowned. “Jean, are you alright? You seem a bit… on edge.”

“M-me?” Jean’s brows shot up. “No, nothing wrong with me, I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle. Yup.”

“Jean,” Marco rolled his eyes, “don’t lie to me, come on. There’s something bothering you, what is it?”

“I just… Marco, can I ask you something?”

Marco’s frown deepened. “Sure, what is i-”

_‘Could competitor number 8, Marco Bodt, please make his way to the arena,’_ boomed out the tannoy speakers.

Too late.

Marco sighed and turned back to Jean with an apologetic smile. “I’ll be back. Don’t think you’ve got out of this.”

“Oh, n-no, I wouldn’t! I mean, I couldn’t, er…” Jean sighed and reached up, his fingers lacing between Marco’s with a gentle squeeze. “F-forget it. I’ll wait.” He leaned as far forward as he could without falling over the fence and planted his lips on the back of Marco’s hand. “Knock them dead out there, baby. I’ll be watching.”

Marco’s smile widened, and he felt the blush tickle his cheeks. Jean didn’t do public affection in such large crowds, and Marco appreciated it. He clicked to Titan with his tongue, encouraging him away from Jean’s hands. The gelding responded immediately, stepping towards the main arena with an eager whinny, and Marco shortened his rein to keep him under control. He could feel the gelding’s nerves returning, and he leaned over to pat the quivering shoulder. “Take it easy, big guy, remember?” he soothed, trying to resist the urge to look back at Jean and the children.

_No. Focus on the course. Focus on the ride. Come on._

He straightened up as he watched the progress of the last rider on the course before him. The rider had one fence left, and as the pair turned towards it, they were a stride out and knocked a pole. Their speed had been good, Marco noted as he looked to the board, but the fault would knock them out of the running for the top spots. Titan let out an anxious whicker and strained at the tight rein Marco had him on. They would have to be fast and accurate, the two most difficult things to accomplish. And then the rider was trotting past him, shaking his head and patting his mount with soft murmurs. “Good luck out there,” he said, and Marco gave a tight nod in return. Too nervous to talk. Couldn’t do it.

And then the bell was ringing, and Titan was fighting his hands, and they were breaking into a canter.

“And here’s who a lot of us were waiting for, I’m sure,” came the commentator over the speakers, “Mr. Marco Bodt, only 23 years old and already in the running for an international equestrian team- more than any of us could wish for, I’m sure. After his incredible rise to the front line of the showjumping world last year, this young man has gone from strength to strength with his great black giant of a horse, and is well known for being a great contender in jump-off rounds.”

Marco gritted his teeth and angled Titan towards the first obstacle. _Block it out_ , he reminded himself. _Block it out and focus on your ride, nothing else, just ride it like you would at home._ He relaxed. He kept his heels tucked neatly against Titan’s sides. He gave him some rein. And then Titan was soaring over the first vertical, landing easily on the other side and immediately lengthening stride to shorten the distance between them and the next one, another vertical.

Titan’s size worked to his advantage with the jumps, as they weren’t bigger than him unlike some of the competitors, but he still needed a lot of force to get over them. He leapt the second on an angle, ready to cut a sharp corner to reach the next without losing too much time. Marco could hear the commentator talking excitedly as he levered Titan at the right angle to hit the next, an oxer, with all the force he had. After that, there was a long distance between them and the water jump. He gave Titan his head and the gelding sprang forwards, bolting into a heavy gallop that Marco was used to as the ground rolled under his hooves. Marco had to keep him controlled, keep him focused, and as he saw the impending water jump he counted the strides.

He was meant to take eight. It was what he’d been taught.

He was taking five.

He curled into Titan’s neck as the gelding left the ground, and felt suspended in the air for a brief moment before he was back on earth, the swishing noise of Titan’s tail flicking behind them the only thing he let into his head. He increased the gelding’s pace still faster, the gaps between the jumps becoming galloping races as he felt conscious of the time. The double was taken fine, and the second oxer left a hair of space between Titan’s hind hoof and a pole. And then they were thundering towards the end, only one jump left to clear and the clock still ticking. Marco felt his pulse roar in his ear. He’d done this dozens of times before now, but that never made it any easier. He turned Titan sharply to cut out any extra time, nearing the side of the stands, and that was when he heard it.

“Yes, he’s coming home with me tonight!”

It was shouted from the crowd, and so loud that even the announcer stopped speaking. Even Titan cocked an ear towards the noise. It broke through Marco’s protective bubble around himself because it came from the one person that could break through everything. He looked.

It was Jean. He was grinning from ear to ear, stood up in the midst of a crowd on edge. He was pointing proudly down at Marco, eyes alive with crackling energy. There was no nerves, no shame, no nothing. He just looked proud. When Marco turned his head to look at him, staring in such shock at Jean’s display of affection, their eyes connected. Marco felt a jolt rush through him. Jean grinned. And then he hollered out, as loud as he could manage, “That’s the guy I’m going to marry!”

Marco broke concentration.

It didn’t matter if Jean hadn’t asked him properly through his nerves and how eager he was to get it over with.

It didn’t matter that his timing was awful.

It didn’t matter that Marco nearly messed up his final jump and ended in second place.

None of those things mattered.

The only thing that mattered to Marco was stood in the stands, brandishing a ring box and yelling that ‘he promised he’d got a ring, see, he was sorry, he was just so excited, are you still gonna say yes’.

_Yes_ , Marco decided, as he nodded violently to Jean’s question. Thick tears spilled onto his cheeks as he trotted over to the stands to get swept up in a tornado of kisses, Jean apologising over and over and Marco telling him not to be stupid through heart-filled, strong sobs.

_There were other things that mattered._


End file.
